Death By Dreams
by harperrose87
Summary: ((continuation of GOOD FOR THE SOUL)) Every good thing comes at a heavy price, and but Sam's dreams cost nearly everything he has. ((The story begins at S13 when Mary and Jack are lost to the Apocalypse World, and follows the trials of Sam and Rachel's relationship while weaving through cannon episodes. A Sam-centric fic that stays as true to the show as possible.))
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes:**

 **1\. Thanks for your reads and support!  
2\. This story is a continuation of "Good For The Soul," so I suggest you start there first.  
3\. Yep, there's an original character. Yep, there's romance. Now's the time to leave if that isn't your thing.  
4\. Said OC is physically (mostly) modeled after actress Maia Mitchell.  
5\. Leave me love or hate-just make sure it's honest and constructive, because that's what floats my boat and makes me a better writer. I LOVE FEEDBACK!  
6\. This is in the current season of this date (13).  
7\. I don't own anything about Supernatural, except my OC. I do _REALLY_ strive to keep things as close as humanly possible to the series, including lure, monsters encountered, characterizations, etc., but I do take minor liberties on things NOT addressed in the show. I may weave in current episodes for continuity.  
8\. There are four letter words used selectively. Hence, the T rating.  
9\. There's some M-rated content in chapters, which are labeled at the beginning. Trigger warnings are also addressed, if necessary.  
** **10.** **Thank you for being a friend.**

* * *

 _ **Lebanon, Kansas**_

 _"Hey, Robbie! Hurry up and eat your pie so we can go outside!" Dean Winchester watched with a wide grin as his nephew scarfed down the last of his apple pie with a muffled agreement, crumbs spilling out of the corner of his mouth._

 _"Done," Robbie announced, his face stuffed with pie. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, hopping off the chair at the bunker's kitchen table._

 _Just as his sneakers hit the floor, Rachel Winchester cleared her throat. Robbie froze, his green eyes wide as he turned and looked at his mother. Her thick brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her hand resting on her pronounced belly. "Pie?" she asked, looking at the four year-old boy with a mop of dark brown hair he insisted on wearing like his dad's. "It's three in the afternoon."_

 _Robbie gulped. "Sorry, Mama."_

 _Rachel looked up to Dean, her brow arched. "I have a feeling Uncle Dean was behind this."_

 _"It's my fault, Mama." Robbie hung his head._

 _"Hey," Dean said, stepping forward. "Look, little man. You don't take the blame for this one, okay?"_

 _"But if I tell on you, then I'll be a wad," Robbie sighed._

 _Dean patted the boy's back. "You're definitely not a wad, kid." He looked up at Rachel. "It's my fault. I caved."_

 _Rachel sighed. The relationship her son had with his uncle couldn't make her mad if she tried. She shook her head, smiling. "No more food until supper." She bent down, receiving an enthusiastic kiss from her little boy. "Love you, baby." She waved them both off. "Go on."_

 _She grinned as both boys bounded off through the bunker front door, sighing. "Looks like it's just you and me, MJ," she said, stroking her rounded belly._

 _"What am I, chopped liver?"_

 _Rachel turned, her smile growing as she saw her husband's sleepy face. Sam Winchester scratched at his thick brown bedhead as he crossed to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her tenderly._

 _She pulled back, looking into Sam's hazel eyes. He still looked exhausted. "You should be sleeping," she urged, stroking his hair away from his brow._

 _"I got a few hours," he shrugged, kissing her cheek as he rested his hands on her belly. "How are my two favorite girls doing?"_

 _Rachel jumped as she felt a hearty kick from inside. "Looks like Mary Jolene is doing good," she laughed._

 _Sam smiled, tenderly stroking over Rachel's stomach. "Little MJ. My kick-ass princess." He looked up to Rachel, cupping her cheeks. "What about my Rachel?" he asked. His thumbs ran over her lips. "How is my beautiful wife doing?"_

 _"I'd be better if you caught up on your sleep," she replied. "Sam, you just started feeling better. You need to rest, though."_

 _"I feel bad," Sam said with a sigh. "You've been taking care of Robbie by yourself while cooking up our princess. And here I am, laying in bed."_

 _"You're sick, dufus," she scolded. "You were puking your guts out all day yesterday." She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "You still feel warm."_

 _"I miss you," he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his._

 _"Sammy …"_

 _Rachel's lips parted when she felt her husband's fingers snag the hem of her cotton dress, inching toward her panties. "Just a little taste," he whispered, her eyes shutting as his fingertips skimmed the edge of them. "It'll help me feel better." She bit her lip as she felt him seek her heat, his touch more than wanted._

 _"N-No," Rachel finally said, swatting his hand away when she regained her senses. "Sam. Bed. Now."_

 _Sam pouted, shuffling back to bed as Rachel followed him. "When I'm better, you'd better be ready," he warned, sinking into their bed with a sigh. "Because I'm going to attack you."_

 _Rachel kissed his forehead, tucking the blankets back over him. "Sleep, Wild Man. I'll wake you for supper."_

 _He took her hand, stroking it. "Buy out tonight. You've been killing yourself the last week. You need to put your feet up." She sighed. He wasn't wrong. "Lay with me," he whispered, knowing he was tipping the scales. "Robbie's with Dean, so … Lay with me."_

 _Rachel lowered into bed, groaning a little as he sat up and took her foot into his hand, rubbing it. "Oh damn," she moaned._

 _"See? You need to let me take care of you." He smirked, glancing up at her through his hair. "I can take care of you in other ways too, you know."_

 _"Samuel," Rachel chided with a soft smile._

 _"Rachel."_

 _She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."_

 _Sam let go of her foot and hovered over her, still somehow bigger than her even with her late third trimester belly. "And you're mine. All mine."_

 _He saw the flirtatious look in her eyes that drove him crazy, barely giving her time to reply before trapping her mouth in his. "Yes, sir."_

* * *

His girlfriend's admission hit Sam Winchester like three tons of bricks, squarely in his chest, piercing through his heart. If he was being honest, he had nearly forgotten about the possibility of her being pregnant with Arioch's nephilim spawn. Despite the hardships of their first month as a couple, the last couple weeks had been the best he had in longer than he cared to admit, if honestly ever. He had an amazing woman that was he insane about, and never felt more satisfied in his life.

Now that woman, Rachel Lentz—his Rachel—sat next to him with tear-stained cheeks, obviously taking on guilt for something she had no reason to. His beautiful Rachel was carrying the seed of evil in her womb against her will.

Truthfully, over the last couple weeks, Sam had wondered what it might be like to start his own family with Rachel, to have a son, a daughter, both, or multiples of one. A chance to be a father, a husband, a man with something beyond any earthly value.

He never told her, but he dreamt it several times, imagining a little boy named Robert Jonathan, Robbie for short. He was named after Bobby, and Sam and Dean's dad, and was just as spirited as them both. He had a mop of wavy dark brown hair the color of his mom's and the cut of his dad's, but piercing green eyes, like his grandmother and uncle. And he was Sam's heart manifested into a human being. Robbie adored his dad, wanting to dress like him, wear his hair like him, eat like him, and even run like him. For a four year old, Robbie was very intelligent, often reading lure books with his dad and considering it almost more fun than the Xbox his Uncle Dean bought him for his birthday.

In his recurrent dream world, Robbie was four, and Rachel was very pregnant with their second child, a little girl they had yet to meet named Mary Jolene, or MJ. Sam was over the moon. MJ wasnt yet born, but she already was his darling princess; Rachel always teased him that MJ already had him wrapped around her finger.

The tiny girl was named for his and Dean's mother, and for Jo and Ellen, and both she and her brother had the lockdown on their Uncle Dean's heart. In fact, Sam knew he'd never see Dean happier until he had his own children. He doted on Robbie, giving him hunting gifts that freaked Rachel out, too many slices of pie at all hours of the day, and letting him sit behind the wheel of the Impala while teaching him the finer points of Classic Rock. And once MJ came, forget it—Dean already worked with Sam on a list of rules for boys, dating, and clothes, threatening to keep a shotgun loaded above the front door of the bunker and to shoot first and ask questions later … only if he felt like it.

Sam blinked hard, his eyes brimmed with his own tears. Now, as he stared at his Rachel, it all seemed to come crashing down around him. Each beautiful brick of possibility crumbled into dust, his hopes and dreams shoved to a dingy corner of his mind. Right now, all he cared about was keeping her alive. His happily ever after would have to wait to come, if at all.

"Hey," he whispered, taking her face between his palms, pushing the errant strands of thick, dark brown hair from her cheeks. She was cool to the touch, her dread and worry chilling her body. "Shh. Look at me." He sought her eyes, patience through their avoidance. "Baby girl. Look at me." Slowly, her brown doe eyes met his hazel ones, hers reddened from crying. "Whose are you?" he asked gently.

Her body quivered as fresh tears slipped out. "Yours."

"That's right, baby girl," he agreed, drawing her onto his lap, holding her close as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Listen to me. You're mine. And you'll always be mine, no matter what." He nuzzled her nose, kissing away her tears. "We are in this together, okay? I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. And neither should you."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel shuddered before she broke down, burying her face into his shoulder.

Sam wrapped his thick arms around her small body, crushing her to his chest. "Stop. Don't you dare be sorry for anything. You hear?" He felt her nod. "Say it," he whispered.

"Yes, sir," she hiccuped into his skin.

His heart was decimated by her fear, by his own, by the challenge they now faced. "Good girl," he said, biting back the shake to his own voice. He had to be her strength. He promised her he would. He kissed whatever skin of hers he could reach, his fingers tightening around her. "Mine," he reminded her. "Always and forever mine."

* * *

Despite the confidence he faked, Sam didn't manage to get any sleep. He didn't dare move in bed, though, comforted that Rachel had found rest within his arms. She would need it. He needed her to be healthy, strong. He would treat this pregnancy as if it were his own child she was carrying, assuring she had the proper nutrition for the road ahead. And he would dig as deep as he could in research and lure to find a way for her to survive her eventual labor.

Six months-the shortened nephilim gestation period-for a deadline seemed like more than enough time, but with gathering the ingredients for the portal and their mounting plan to bring Jack and Mary Winchester home, knowing the woman he loved was on a ticking time clock for life only made for insane pressure.

Sam spent the entire night wondering when he should tell Dean. He knew he would need his brother's help, and Castiel's too. He knew Jody Mills was willing to put in time too. Of course, he knew by spreading her condition around, he risked the chance of Rachel hating him or regressing. But he had no choice. He loved her, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant driving her away from himself. He just wasn't keen on actually telling everyone.

He smiled sadly as he stroked Rachel's arm, glancing at her now flat stomach. The little boy of his dreams grinned in his mind's eyes as he imagined his child-sized hands resting over Rachel's full womb, promising to protect his little sister "forever and ever." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself silent tears in the darkness of their room. She could never know his dreams. If she did, she would likely never recover from the guilt she would assume for herself.

Morning came, the very faint scent of coffee filtering through the air. Sam smirked when he saw Rachel stir as it drifted into their room. He brushed the thick waves from her eyes, tightening his arms around her as she slowly woke. "Morning," he whispered, planting deliberate kisses over her.

"Morning," she managed, reality seeming to crash back onto her with a vengeance as she blinked heavily, staring at his chest. "Sam—"

"Shh," he urged, his thumb over her lips as he kissed her forehead. "Don't. I know it's scary, but it doesn't define us."

"But, it does." She traced over his warding symbol, focusing on the intricate ink. "It defines why … why you should let me—"

"Stop," he said sternly, tilting her chin up and holding her gaze. "Don't you dare finish that sentence." He swallowed, assuming control. "Tell me whose you are."

"Yours," she whispered.

"And do I love you?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He kissed her lips, holding back a moan as he gently tasted her. "You're mine," he assured when they parted, his nose stroking her cheek. "Whatever comes will come. If doesn't change a damn thing between us. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, barely audible as she clung to him, her face buried in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

* * *

It didn't take Dean longer than a minute to sense the shift of the usual vibe between his brother and Rachel. He usually felt happy to see them together, maybe even a touch jealous at the relationship they had. They were good together, and the way Sam smiled when he was with her was unlike anything he had ever seen. He wasn't a Hallmark card kind of guy, but watching them was downright magical at times. It nearly made him want to find a "Rachel" of his own, even though he wasn't nearly as confident in his ability to balance a relationship with his life as a hunter.

Still, as he sipped his morning coffee, everything tensed inside of him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he took in Rachel's expression. She was already a small woman, but she seemed even smaller, her fingers tight around Sam's hand. Maybe it was Sam's plaid shirt she wore like a nightgown that hung to mid thigh on her petite frame. It was more than that, though. She was weak. Afraid. It was as if Sam just found her in Denning's farmhouse basement, half dressed, beaten, and scarred. He chose to keep his expression neutral, waiting until Sam ultimately chose to reveal what was wrong. In that moment, what was actually wrong with her wasn't even on his radar. Dean concluded that, for now, his ignorance would be her bliss. She looked like she had enough on her mind anyway. "Morning, lovebirds. Coffee's hot, but breakfast is not. All out of supplies for anything good, so cereal it is today. Not much Captain Crunch left though."

Rachel smiled at him, the idea of Captain Crunch making her nauseous. "Thanks, Dean. I'm not really hungry."

"You should eat, though," Sam countered, looking over at her. He cleared his throat, seeing her subtle warning. "It's the most important meal of the day." He subconsciously smoothed his gray tee shirt, jamming his hands into his jean pockets.

She went to the pantry and pulled down two mugs, pouring two cups of coffee. "I know," she replied, "which is why I'm having coffee. Because coffee is important."

Sam saw through her attempt to be her usual self, but he was grateful Dean seemed to be oblivious to what was so evident to him. "Thanks," he murmured as she handed him a cup with just the right amount of cream. He watched her as she pulled herself to sit on the counter, her bare legs swinging gently as she settled in, wrapping her hands around her mug. It had become normal for her to wear her pajamas around Dean, even if they were just Sam's shirts over her underwear. She was far from a morning person, so getting dressed right away wasn't her forte. "So." Sam turned to his brother, nodding to the folded newspaper in front of him. "Anything interesting we can look into?"

"There looks to be a potential vamp nest about an hour and a half south of here in Cawker City," Dean said, sliding over the paper as Sam sat across from him.

Sam focused on the text, knowing if he deliberately poured himself into his work, he could avoid the elephant in the room for at least a short while. "Three women found with their blood drained, puncture wounds at the neck and wrists, a couple of tourist disappearances …" He skimmed down, taking in two photos. "David Masterson and Kelly Kipley. Both missing since about two weeks ago when they came through Cawker City on a road trip." He nodded, sipping his coffee. "Pretty textbook. We taking it?"

Dean shrugged. "Up to you. It would take a day or two at the most."

"Let's do it."

"Great." Dean couldn't help but experiment with the dynamic between Sam and Rachel. He knew Sam wouldn't come clean right away, if at all without force. "Ever take down a vamp nest, Rach?"

Rachel nodded, sipping her coffee. "About a year ago, with another hunting duo. I was their bait."

"Perfect," Dean smiled. "You can see the world's biggest ball of twine and play bait again."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam interrupted, tensing as he looked at Dean. "She's not coming."

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked incredulously, brow arched.

"It's a vamp nest," Sam argued, trying to send a hidden message across to her through his eyes. "It's not a job we would need you for. It would just risk you unnecessarily."

She clearly wasn't having it. "I don't think that's up to you," she reminded, her tone sending a message of her own.

"We could cut down time with a pretty worm on the hook, Sammy," Dean offered, fully aware he was severely ruffling his brother's feathers. He had to play his role of ignorance, though.

"Again," Sam said slowly, a growl to his voice, "it's an unnecessary risk."

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Rachel asked, setting down her coffee and hopping off the counter. Though it was a question, Sam knew there was no other answer other than yes. He followed her into the library, looking down at her as she turned to him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Protecting you," he whispered back. "You're in no condition to hunt."

She eyed him. "I'm pregnant with an unkillable nephilim, for shit's sake. What is going to happen to me?"

"Sit this one out."

"No!" She scoffed, her hands on her hips. "I _knew_ this would happen. The minute I told you, I knew you'd get like this."

"Just … stay here for lure, okay?" Sam offered.

Rachel cocked her brow at him. "Lure? Really, Sam? You need lure on vamps?"

"Dammit," Sam growled, running his hand through his hair, "Rachel, you're …" He stopped, unable to finish his sentence.

"I'm coming," she concluded for him. "Whether you like it or not. So, get used to it. When I'm waddling around here like a giant stuffed duck, then I'll stay home. Let me be normal for the last few months of my life."

Sam grabbed her arm as she started to walk away. "These _aren't_ the last months of your life," he reminded her. "I'll find a way."

Rachel drew in a breath, pained at his optimism. "I know you want to, and I love you for that. But the sooner you face reality, the better."

Sam watched as Rachel left the library, heading back into the kitchen. He swiped his hand over his mouth, angrily brooding as he cursed Arioch's name in his mind. He couldn't kill that Watcher enough times to sate his venomous rage. In fact, he was fairly certain he wouldn't even kill him right away—he'd just torture him until he died from the sheer desperation to escape.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam found his way back into the kitchen. Rachel was gone, Dean still in his chair. "She went to change," Dean explained. "Not sure why. Something about needing pants." He shrugged. "I was okay with no pants, personally." Dean saw Sam's distant stare as he focused on his mug, tempted to demand the facts right then and there. "You alright?" he tested.

"Fine," Sam replied, his smile obviously forced. "I'm, uh, going to get my boots."

Dean watched his brother walk away, sipping his coffee. "Oh yeah, you're fine. Nothing wrong at all," he muttered with a shake of his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cawker City, Kansas**

"So, that's it?" Rachel squinted through her sunglasses at the ginormous, round ball of twine as she put her hands on her hips. The hot sun baked her black FBI suit, sweat threatening her brow as she waited outside with Dean.

"Yep," Dean replied, tugging on his tie.

"Huh."

"Yep."

"Alright," Sam said, coming out of the local pharmacy, smoothing his suit jacket, "no one's seen David or Kelly, of course, but the woman I talked to said she has had an influx of first aid purchases by a kid named Randy Ferris. He's a local, born and raised, and told her he needed the supplies for his father's farm."

"Interesting," Dean said. "What kind of supplies?"

"Gauze, bandages, antibiotics, and Vitamin K supplements."

"Vitamin K thickens blood," Rachel noted.

Sam nodded. "So it looks like our vamps are feeding on tap."

"That would explain the disappearances, if their bodies haven't been recovered."

"Where can we find this Randy Ferris kid?" Dean asked.

"According to the woman I just spoke to, he should be in school until around three o'clock."

"Can we pull him out of class?"

"Possibly." Sam sighed. "His uncle is the sheriff, though, so we might find this goes deeper than we think."

"I can handle him," Rachel said confidently. "You two go to the school, and I'll head to the station to see what I can find out. We can meet back at the little diner on the corner."

Sam looked over Rachel. "Alone?"

She rolled her eyes after withdrawing her sunglasses. "Yes, dufus. Alone. God. I'm not a china doll."

Sam's jaw ticked as he stared down at her, holding her gaze. He was pissed, but he still couldn't help but think about her from that morning in her glasses and his flannel shirt that barely covered her tiny boyshort panties, damning himself for his weakness with her. "Fine." He sniffed, turning away from her. "Let's go, Dean."

Dean's brow arched as he glanced between them, reluctantly following Sam to the Impala. "So … Nice job on not going Mother Hen on her."

"Yeah." Sam sat in the passenger's seat and shut the door a little harder than necessary.

"Okay," Dean said, sitting beside him, "what's up?"

Sam looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

Dean waved his hand. "Between you two. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sam laughed, shaking his head. It was nearly fake enough to make Dean gag. "We're fine."

Dean pursed his lips, turning over the Impala's engine. "Ooh-kay." He put the car into drive and road off toward the school, deciding to leave it at that. He needed Sam's focus. Whatever it was could wait until later that night, when he would threaten to beat the shit out of him unless he confessed. For now, though, he would play his role.

Sam swallowed, looking out the window as they passed by Rachel, who met his eyes before heading into the sheriff's station. His stomach twisted despite knowing she'd likely be fine. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if it was a mistake leaving her alone. Vamps could smell the difference between blood types, let alone the difference of a pregnant woman. Rachel was producing more blood from the nephilim she carried, which would only stir a vamp's appetite even more.

Sam whipped out his phone and texted her:

 **Be. Careful. Please.**

He shut his eyes, opening them when he felt his phone vibrate with her reply:

 **I'll be fine, Sam.**

He typed back:

 **Vamps will be able to tell you're pregnant through scent. If you suspect anything, leave immediately. And text or call me for anything. Okay?**

He sighed deeply when he read her reply, massaging his temples with a swallowed grumble:

 **Yes.**

It was such a short word, but with the "sir" purposely left out, he knew the weight of it. She didn't want his control, and she would likely fight it if he took it. She was right back where they started, risking herself to prove some kind of point.

Sam shoved his phone in his pocket. It pissed him off big time, and she would definitely hear about it that night.

* * *

Rachel tucked her phone away before twisting open the station door, gently shutting it behind her as she felt the eyes of the few men in the open room on her. She buried her nerves, giving them a warm smile. "Agent Meg Markson, FBI," she said confidently, showing her ID to the man who stood from his seat on the edge of a desk and approached her.

"Miss Markson," the sheriff nodded with a tip of his hat. "Sheriff Bill Ferris. What can I do for you?"

Rachel didn't miss the way his eyes raked over her. "I'm here regarding the missing tourists, David Masterson and Kelly Kipley," she replied, showing them photos. "Once state lines get crossed, they involve the Feds."

"Understandable," Sheriff Ferris agreed. "Unfortunately, I haven't got much to report on it. My boys have been combing a thirty mile radius for some time now. I'm honestly not even sure if they are in Kansas still."

"Where was the last place they were seen?"

"Down by the lake, 'bout two weeks ago. It's a big attraction 'round these parts, 'bout a mile down the main road. That, and the twine," the sheriff winked.

Rachel smile politely. "So, no one's reported any sightings since then?"

Sheriff Ferris shook his head. "Nope. Not a one. Shame about those folks, really." He stepped closer to Rachel, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm sorry, this is a bit forward of me, but I couldn't help but notice how nice you smell. I hope you don't mind me saying."

Rachel's stomach dropped. "Thanks," she said, keeping her cool as she flicked her eyes to the others in the room-two younger uniformed sheriffs, and an older man in plain clothes. Their eyes seemed locked on her, a small sneer of a smile raising the old man's upper lip. "Well," she said a little too chipper, "you've been a big help. Thanks for your time." She stepped backward, putting distance between her and the sheriff.

"Your partners," Sheriff Ferris noted, pausing Rachel as she turned for the door. "They had somewhere to be?"

"Other leads," she explained, smiling.

"Ah. Saw 'em at Cathy's store. Can't help but notice two big boys in black suits 'round these parts. Nor do you see a gal as pretty and sophisticated as yourself wandering in Cawker City." Sheriff Ferris bridged the gap Rachel had purposely made. "Just might want to keep your eyes out. Boys 'round these parts tend to behave, but we do have try to keep 'em in line from time to time, 'specially when they get excitable. You understand."

"Sure," Rachel replied, brow softly arched. "Thanks for your time."

With fire, Rachel turned and left the station, drawing in a deep breath as she stepped out into the sunlight, striding toward the safety of the diner. She grabbed her phone and nearly opened a text to Sam when she paused, remembering what Sheriff Ferris had said about the victims last being seen at the lake. Shoulders squared, she headed down the road on foot toward the lake the sheriff had mentioned, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

* * *

Sam tapped his foot impatiently next to Dean as they waited for Randy Ferris to exit the classroom he was in. His mind was far from where they currently were, wrapped around Rachel being alone with vamps in the area. He nearly pounced on the skinny redhead kid the minute he saw him. "Let's go," Sam said, giving Randy no choice but to hustle.

Once inside the front office, Randy had a seat while Sam and Dean stood, looking down at him. The kid was obviously freaked out, sweat dotting his brow before any questions were even asked. "So," Dean said, clearing his throat, "I'm Agent Russell, this is Agent Elliott. We're here to ask you some questions about the missing tourists."

Randy's fair brow creased. "What would I know about that?"

"You tell us."

"I don't know shit," Randy scoffed. "Why would I?"

"Why all the medical supplies?" Sam asked, lacking his usual tact.

"I need stuff for my dad for the farm." Randy looked between the brothers. "Look, since when is it illegal to need supplies?"

"Depends on what you're using them for." Sam stepped closer, his irritation over Rachel seeping into the way he approached the interrogation. "We've got missing people who might need patching up."

Randy laughed, shaking his head. "Uh, yeah—I don't really even know what you're talking about."

"Why get supplies from a pharmacy?" Dean asked. "If they're for animals, why not get supplies from a vet?"

"The closest vet is thirty miles away. Miss Cathy's store is three miles. You do the math."

"And what's wrong with the animals?"

"Some of our sheep got spooked by a coyote and tried to bust through the west side fence. Got torn up pretty good."

Sam showed Randy the two photographs of the missing people. "Have you seen either of these people in the last few weeks?"

"Nope," Randy replied quickly. "Can't say I have."

"Take a good look," Sam said, keeping the photos in front of Randy. "You know, just to make sure."

Sam watched as Randy examined the photos, taking note of the dilation of his eyes. "No, sir," Randy said evenly, "I haven't seen 'em."

Putting away the photos, Sam moved near Randy. "Have you seen anything out of the ordinary lately? Anything at all?"

Randy shrugged. "Not really. I'm just mostly here or home helping my dad."

"No hangouts?" Dean asked.

"Sure. Sometimes at the lake pavilion, but that's usually on the weekends."

"Where's that?"

"'Bout five miles from here, I figure."

"Do you go there often?"

Randy's nerves were less than disguised. "Sometimes."

"And what do you do there?" Sam asked.

"Just … hang out."

"Anything strange ever happen?"

Randy laughed. "What do you mean?"

Sam shrugged. "Just want to see if you ever noticed anything unusual about the pavilion."

"Nah. It's just a dump." Sam watched as Randy shifted in his seat. "Look, can I just go back to class now? I've got a mid term coming up."

Sam glanced to Dean, who gave him a small nod. "One last question," Sam said. "Where's your farm?"

"East edge of town, on Scoller Road."

"Thanks, Randy," Dean said, giving him a nod. He watched him leave, seeing Sam jotting down the information into his phone.

"Kid's a lying sack of shit," Sam grumbled as they left the office toward the exit.

Dean smirked. "Tell me how you really feel, Sammy."

"When I asked him if he ever saw the missing people, his pupils dilated like all hell. Didn't even look at the photos before he dismissed them." Sam pulled out his phone, his jaw ticking when he didn't see anything from Rachel. "Let's just go, 'kay? I want to get Rachel back with us."

Dean watched as Sam strode ahead. "Mind telling me what the hell is going on with you two?"

Sam swallowed hard. "At this particular moment, yes."

"So, when _won't_ you mind?"

"Later."

"Nice, Sammy. Real nice."

Sam drew in a deep breath, pausing and looking his brother. "I will, Dean. I promise. Just … not now."

* * *

Rachel took off her sunglasses as she looked at the rippling lake, spotting a couple small boats on the water in the far distance. She slowly walked along the shoreline, noting the space around her as she tried to see where captors could've potentially hidden. Still, the area was wide open, no plausible hiding spot for vamps to surprise victims. "They were invited here then," she concluded to herself. It didn't make sense otherwise. The vamps had to be trusted members of the town, or trusted enough to bring their victims to the lake. "But why the lake?"

She walked for a long while, losing track of time as she thought about the life growing inside of her. It pained her to know she was carrying a potentially evil being in her womb. Would she grow attached to it? Would she bond with it? The entire situation felt dirty, even though Sam tried his best to remain positive for both of them.

 _Sam._

God, how she wished she wasn't putting Sam through it all. She loved him, and she knew he loved her, but it still didn't seem fair to him or worth it for him. What could he gain from being with her now? Before she found out she was pregnant, Rachel would allow herself the luxury of a daydream here and there about what having a family might be like with Sam. He would be an amazing husband and father—protective, caring, smart, and strong. She smiled sadly as he thought about how tiny a newborn would look cradled in his massive hands. Would he want a boy or a girl? She imagined a boy with shaggy hair like his, probably getting into trouble with his Uncle Dean, and a girl with blonde curls and that Sam would consider his little princess.

It was all so beautiful to imagine, but also so painful. She could never give Sam that life, the normal life he so desperately craved for as long as he could remember. In fact, there wasn't much worth left in her at all. Soon, she'd be more of a liability than she already was, only to die giving birth to the evil they fought daily to vanquish. Sure, Sam made her confirm his love, reminding her of his devotion. But what was the point?

Squinting her eyes, Rachel stopped her thoughts when she spotted a walled pavilion and headed for it, noting the colorful graffiti on the outside. Empty beer bottles and cans littered the perimeter, cigarette butts discarded in the rocky sand. It clearly was a hangout of sorts, likely for teens.

She approached the door, taking out her small flashlight from her pocket and flicking it on, testing the door. The weight of her Sig Saur in her shoulder holster—both of which Sam bought her—was a comfort, an eerie vibe surrounding the weathered building. The door opened easily, and Rachel drew her gun, keeping her eyes peeled as she entered.

The inside was far worse than the outside, more trash scattered over the floor, a smoky, musty scent wafting over the space. She carefully moved through the darkness, seeing evidence of nothing more than secret teen gatherings through crumbled cigarette packs, empty bottles, and condom wrappers.

That is, until she spotted something in the corner.

Rachel moved to it, noting how dried blood stained the corner of the far wall, a small spread stripe darkened from drying. The pattern didn't seem to fit with anything violent—it didn't look like someone had been stabbed or shot. Rather, it looked as if it was a stray smudge that ended up on a hand, smearing when someone leaned against the wall.

Crouching down, Rachel examined the space just below the smear. It was far cleaner of dust than the rest of the surrounding area, leading her to conclude that someone had occupied it fairly recently. "So, they were feeding, then moved the body?" It seemed to make sense. And the vamp then inadvertently left a small mark on the wall as it moved the victim. "But to where?"

Rachel stood, hearing a faint conversation outside of the pavilion. She waited in silence, dousing the light into her suit jacket and clicking it off as she listened, moving deeper into the darkness.

"Think they'll leave quickly, like the others?" one man said.

"There's no reason for the Feds to stick around," another replied. "Can't imagine they'd find anything to keep them here."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

"You see that girl, though? Man, she's a pretty little thing."

The second man laughed. "Good luck getting through her partners."

"Eh, those city boys don't scare me. Bet they all stay at Ted's lodge for the night." The first man chuckled. "He'll tell me if they do. Ooh, the things I wanna do to that sweet little ass of hers."

"Can't be so blatant about it. You know Bill doesn't like it."

"Fuck Bill. If I want her, then I'll take her however I damn well please. He doesn't own me."

"Gotta keep the guild tight, Luke. You know the rules. Besides, the way that long haired one looked at her, you know he's tapping it."

"That douchebag might be tall, but he ain't nothing a shotgun can't handle."

"You'd shoot a Fed to bone their partner?"

"I wouldn't have to, not if I could get her alone."

"You're good, but you ain't that good."

"Shut up, asshole. How the hell do you think I got that cute little blonde? Man, she was really tasty. I can still hear her screams."

Rachel felt her weight shift, her head woozy from the proximity she was in of apparent vampires, and lack of food. A gentle scuff sound resonated through the pavilion, feeling nearly as loud as if she had shot a gun. As soon as it happened, Rachel began to silently panic, a cold sweat breaking out over her.

"You hear that?" the man with Luke asked.

"Uh-huh," Luke replied. "And maybe I'm just hungry, but I smell something good too."

"I don't smell anything."

"That's 'cause you're an idiot."

Rachel wet her throat, her heart racing nearly out of control as the two voices got closer. A hand twisted the knob, the door creaking open. Dimming daylight spliced through, though thankfully not revealing where Rachel now hid behind a stack of crates. "Let's have a look, shall we?" Luke asked, the man with him chuckling.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut when a cell phone rang between the two men. "Dammit," Luke growled, answering it. "What?" There was a pause. "Oh yeah? You think so?" He laughed after a few beats. "Well, that sounds even better than before. Alright, we're on our way."

Their voices faded as they moved away from the pavilion. Rachel waited several long moments before drawing in a relieved breath, carefully peeking out of the building to find she was alone. In the doorway, she tucked her gun away and clicked off her flashlight, heading back toward the main road through the dusky light. Rachel gulped. She didn't realize how far she actually went until she looked for signs of the road that she didn't see. Taking out her phone, she fired off a text to Sam:

 **Stay sharp. We are being watched.**

As suspected, it didn't take Sam more than a moment to respond:

 **Are you okay? What's going on?**

She replied, failing to notice her slip-up in words until after it was sent:

 **I'm fine. I'm on my way to the diner. I'll be there in about thirty mins.**

She cringed when she read his reply:

 **You mean the diner that's right down the street from the station? The station you're supposed to be at?**

Rachel groaned, locking her phone and jamming it in her pocket. She knew she'd hear it from Sam, but this was her job. And she wasn't about to go through the whole same song and dance they already did when they first met. Clearly, something had happened at the pavilion, and it could've been related to the disappearances. The only way to find evidence was to look for it, and Sam Winchester wasn't going to stop her from trying to help innocent people.

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Sam growled, his follow-up texts not being read by Rachel. "I love her, but I swear she's going to give me a stroke."

Dean looked over to him from the driver's seat, steering the Impala back to the main section of town. "What's wrong?"

"She went somewhere else after the station, but I have no clue where. She's thirty minutes from the diner."

"Thirty minutes?" Dean asked, brow arched.

"I'm guessing on foot."

"So, a mile or so?"

"Maybe." Sam pulled up a map on his phone, scouting the area. "The lake," he noted. "Take a right up here."

Rachel groaned when she heard the Impala rumbling up ahead, knowing she was in for a full lecture from Sam when he saw her alone on foot. She stopped as the Impala slowed to a halt, Sam immediately getting out as Dean stayed behind. "Are you trying to kill me?" Sam asked, his tone desperate, brows knit together.

"Would you care to hear what I found?" Rachel countered.

"Baby," Sam said, taking her upper arms in his hands, "why? Why risk yourself like this?"

Rachel sighed, Sam clearly pained over her choice. "Later," she said softly, glancing to the Impala. She flicked her eyes back to his. "I promise we'll talk later."

Wetting his lips, Sam nodded with reluctance, walking back with Rachel to the Impala. "So," Dean said as she sat in the backseat, "care to tell us why you went on foot, alone, to a desolate lake?"

"Later," Sam said before Rachel could. "Let's just get something to eat before we all start splitting hairs."

Dean grumbled something, shifting the car into drive as Rachel gave Sam a small glance through the rear view mirror. Despite her gratefulness for cutting the argument short, she could tell he was highly agitated. And a highly agitated Sam was something she wasn't really looking forward to dealing with.

* * *

Dean seemed more relaxed at the diner as they exchanged findings. "... So, given his weirdness, we were thinking of heading to the farm after dinner to see what we can see," he said.

Rachel nodded, attempting to sip her chicken soup. "Sounds good."

As Dean bit into the last third of his burger, he eyed Rachel's nearly filled bowl. She was a far better eater than she showed. "Not hungry?"

"Just … Not liking it," she admitted, stirring it around. It was making her nauseous. Then again, everything was.

Sam slid his hand over her thigh under the table. "Order something else, baby," he said gently.

"No, it's fine," she insisted, ducking her head down.

"You need to eat," Sam insisted. He kissed her cheek, whispering into her ear, "Please, baby girl. You need to eat, to keep your strength."

Rachel swallowed, nodding. Truthfully, every single scent in the diner turned her stomach. Nothing even sounded remotely appetizing. Morning sickness seemed to kick in as soon as she took the test the night before. Except, it wasn't just limited to mornings. It was around the clock sickness.

"Could she order something else?" Sam asked as the waiter came back.

"Sure," the waiter said, looking at Rachel expectantly.

She glanced at the menu, her eyes glazing over as she tried to find something appetizing. "Can I have a glass of milk and a side of broccoli?"

Dean's brows couldn't possibly raise any higher as the waiter nodded and left, taking the soup. "Um, what kind of food is that?"

Rachel gulped. "It sounds good?"

Dean kept staring. "Milk and broccoli?" She shrugged. "Yeah, that sounds like a combination I'd be forced to eat in Hell."

Sam's jaw ticked as he glanced at Dean, then to Rachel. "So long as you eat something," he said, managing a smile, hoping it wasn't as awkward as it felt. He swallowed, keeping his hand on Rachel's thigh, his fingers stroking over her with slow, deliberate movements. Tension born from stress over Rachel riddled his body, but he found comfort in the contact, and saw she did too.

"So, the pavilion," Dean said, eyeing both of them, settling on Rachel. "Any particular reason you decided to go there on foot by yourself?"

"Because it's my job?" she replied, holding his gaze.

"Your job isn't to serve yourself up like a tasty little treat to creepy ass hicks." He leaned back, drawing in a deep breath. "But I'm sure your boyfriend's already planning on covering that argument." He looked to Sam. "Unless there's something the two of you want to talk about."

"Right now, I'd rather talk about the dried blood I found in the pavilion, and the conversation I overheard about people watching us, including some sort of guild they have."

"A guild?" Sam asked.

Rachel nodded. "I heard two guys talking about watching us, and about adhering to the guild. Seems like our Sheriff Ferris is in charge."

"Perfect," Dean muttered. "So, no local law enforcement can be trusted."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, her comment meant to be to herself. "It makes sense now why the sheriff told me how 'good' I smelled."

"What?" Sam asked, immediately tensing, his soothing motion on her thigh halting.

She gulped. "Uh, yeah. He seemed really ... keen on it."

"Fucking pervert vamp," Sam grumbled, his heart racing nearly out of control. "I'll gank that son of a bitch."

Dean caught his brother's look. "And dried blood?" he asked Rachel.

"In the pavilion," Rachel replied. "Seems like whoever's blood it was was left there by happenstance. The smearing made it seem residual rather than a splatter. And it was far cleaner of dust near the blood than the surrounding area."

Dean shrugged. "Could've been kids crashing in there."

"Maybe. Regardless, the lake has the highest concentration of out of towners. It would make sense for a vamp nest to pick off the non-locals so questions don't get asked."

The waiter returned with a tall glass of milk and a steaming side of broccoli. Rachel thanked him before he slipped away. She sighed. The broccoli smelled incredibly good, and she was starving for it suddenly. A strange craving, but at least a healthy one. Rachel bit into a forkful, moaning with satisfaction. "Ugh," Dean groaned. "Tell me you're not serious."

"So good," she said, chasing it with a long drink of milk.

"Sam, I think your girlfriend is defective."

Sam stabbed his salad, gritting his teeth. He couldn't stop thinking about Rachel's earlier comment about the sheriff. Every single inch of him was on fire. When things settled down after Arioch, he thought he could do it—he thought he could balance a relationship and their work. Still, with Rachel pregnant while they were hunting vampires, his mind was in overdrive. Regardless that it wasn't his child, she was his, and she was in serious danger even being there. To top it off, she wasn't eating well enough, more than likely from morning sickness. He was trying his damndest to give her the normalcy she craved while protecting her, and it was already making him insane after not even a full day.

"So, we'll see what we can see at the farm, then check in to that shitty little lodge down the street," Dean concluded.

"No," Rachel immediately said, surprising both of the brothers. "I … just think … we should stay at the Express Inn."

"That's like ten miles back," Dean scoffed. "Come on, Rach. I'm sure you've stayed in shittier places."

Sam saw Rachel's distress, clearing his throat. "I could use a night's sleep in a decent bed," he said, holding Dean's gaze. "Ten miles isn't terrible, right?"

Dean narrowed his focus between them. "Fine," he said, offering a smile. "Express Inn it is."

* * *

Dean killed the Impala lights a distance from the farm, the three walking in only the surrounding moonlight as they crept toward the large pastures and barns.

Sam let his brother lead the charge, taking Rachel's arm gently as he trailed behind a little. "You okay?" he asked. The tension was still in his tone, but she could tell he wasn't looking to fight—not then, anyway.

"I feel like shit," Rachel admitted. "The broccoli was good. Now I'm not so sure. And overall, that diner was disgusting. It smelled like fried feet."

"What can I do to help?"

"Figure out a way to make me un-pregnant so my senses can go back to normal?"

"Trust me, I would if I could."

"Stop telling secrets and start working," Dean growled in front of them.

"Jealous?" Rachel teased.

"Hell yeah I am," Dean replied. He glanced back at Rachel with a smirk. "Not fair he gets the better slice all the time with you here. Even if you do like doing stupid shit, you're not terrible to look at."

"Gee, thanks, Dean."

Rachel gasped as Dean disappeared into the ground, Sam grabbing her and halting her from falling in the same hole his brother was now at the bottom of. "Son of a bitch!" Dean growled. Sam got to his knees, shining his flashlight down and watching as Dean slowly pushed to his feet. "Fucking A."

"You alright?" Sam asked.

Dean retrieved his flashlight, finding the entire face busted, not working. "Perfect," he grumbled, tossing it aside. "I'd be better if I wasn't in a hole with …" Dean stopped. "Holy fuck, please don't tell me I fell in a pile of sheep shit."

Rachel aimed her flashlight at Dean's feet. "Okay, so … you didn't, then?"

"Dammit!"

"Hang on, there's rope in the car. I'll go get it."

"No," Sam interrupted, catching her arm. "You stay with Dean."

Before she could argue, Sam was slipping through the darkness back toward the Impala. She sighed, shining a light into the hole. "So, is this where you yell at me while Sam isn't around?"

Dean shook his head. "This is where you tell me what the hell is going on." He held up his hand. "And don't say nothing, because I know how you two work. 'Nothing' always means something, and 'fine' is never a good thing."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't, Dean. Not right now."

"Did you two break up?"

"What? No!"

Dean paused. "Oh." His brow creased. "Then what the hell is up with Sammy? And why can't anyone tell me anything now?"

"He's …" Rachel sighed. "He'll be fine, I promise."

"And you?" Before she could answer, she froze. "Wh—"

"Shh," she urged, lowering down on her stomach into the thick grass. She shone her flashlight into the corner of the hole. "Dean. What is that?"

Dean's eyes rounded, remaining frozen. "What is what?"

"Next to you."

"Fuck me. Is it alive?"

"No, idiot. Just look."

Dean looked over at the beam of light to his side, his brow wrinkled as his face creased in disgusted. "That would be a dead sheep," he concluded. "Well, what's left of it." He paused, moving his feet. "Son of a bitch!" Liquid squished out between the treads of his suit shoes. "I'm in a damn dead sheep pit!"

"Check the bodies for injuries," Rachel said. She sighed as Dean gave her a look.

"I'm stuck down here with rotting, partial sheep, standing in blood and guts, and you want me to check their injuries? What about my permanent mental scarring, huh?"

"Just look for wounds, Dean," Rachel ordered.

With a grumble, Dean examined the carcasses, his brow arching as he came to a realization. "Rach, there aren't just sheep down here." He looked up at her. "Gimme the light."

Reluctantly, she tossed him the light, Dean catching it and shining it to the side. "Um, I think I found David Masterson."

"What?!" Rachel clung to the edge of the hole, trying to watch as Dean examined the darkness she couldn't see. "Is it him?"

"It might be. Can't tell."

"Why not?"

"Because … half his face is missing."

"Maggots?"

Dean drew in a breath. "Nope. These are teeth marks. And not sharp ones."

"So, a rugaru," Sam concluded behind her.

Rachel jumped, her heart racing. "Fuck, Sam!" she scolded, trying to catch her breath. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry," he offered, helping her stand. "Dean? You think we've got a rugaru too?"

"Maybe, Sammy," Dean replied, groaning as something plopped into the liquid next to him. "Can you get me out of here? Please?"

It only took Sam a few minutes to help Dean repel up the side of the hole, but Dean was more than disgusted when he got to the surface. "Son of a bitch!" he growled, his pants sopping wet at the ankles from mud, feces, and blood.

Rachel plugged her nose, gagging violently at the stench Dean brought up with him. "Oh God." She ran off into the darkness, hurling only a moment later.

Dean saw Sam's worried look and waved him off. Sam rushed to her side, helping to hold her hair back as she threw up every last bit of the meager food she ate that day. "Breathe," Sam encouraged, stroking her back.

"Sam, I …" Rachel gagged. "Oh shit." Sam winced as she threw up even more, worried for her.

"Easy," he coached, supporting her as she stood up, coughing a little. She looked pale, tired. "Baby, you need rest," he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. "And some food you won't puke up."

"I can't even think about eating right now."

"I need you to. I need you healthy." He rubbed her back in small circles. Sam's brow arched as he saw Dean walking toward them, his pants dragging behind him in his hand. "Why'd you take off your pants, Dean?"

"There's no way I'm getting in Baby with sheep shit and blood on me." Dean walked by them, smirking at Rachel as she watched with a dumbfounded expression. "Don't be sad, sweetheart. Could've had it, but you went for the one with Disney Princess hair."

"Oh God," Rachel cringed, hiding her face in Sam's jacket. "I don't want to see my boyfriend's brother in his underwear right now."

"Come on, it isn't that bad," Dean replied. "Besides, I see you in yours every day, just about."

"What the hell, dude?!" Sam growled, eyeing Dean.

Dean held his hands up. "She's the one that parades around in your shirts every morning. It's not like I haven't seen a peek of panty cheek. Just saying."

"Gross!" Rachel groaned in Sam's jacket.

"Dammit, Dean! Stop looking at my girlfriend's ass," Sam barked.

"I'm a red-blooded male," Dean reasoned. "It's kind of impossible to avoid if she doesn't wear pants. Well, even if she does ..."

Rachel grimaced. "Ugh. Talk about being scarred for life."

Sam knew Dean was respectful, but his tension and stress from everything else carried over into his irritation for Dean's admission. "Eyes. Off. My. Girlfriend."

Dean held his hands up. "Hey, we Winchesters are all about honesty." He looked to Rachel, who dared to peek one eye out from where she buried her face into Sam's suit jacket. "And for all you know, I might be better than the current model. More experience here, that's for sure." He winked, passing by them.

Sam grumbled like an agitated bear, holding Rachel to his side as he led her to the Impala behind Dean. "So, now what?" he managed.

"Can't involve the authorities until we see how deep this goes," Dean replied. "So, we'll get some sleep and figure out a way to track where the nest is in the morning."

"Or, we can put the worm on the hook and get it over with," Rachel suggested.

Sam shut his eyes, his head ready to explode. "No. We need sleep. We'll debate about stringing you up as a vamp nest sacrifice tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

**Express Inn**

 **Cawker City, Kansas**

"I don't know if I can ever wear your shirts in front of him again," Rachel said as she buttoned one over herself, fresh from the shower in their separate motel room at the Express Inn.

Sam sighed, tugging on a pair of pajama pants. "Yeah, definitely don't. Though I love seeing you in them, him seeing you in them is not an image I'll likely ever erase from my mind." He paused, hands on his hips. "I was going to wait until … shit, I don't know. But I can't." He eyed her. "Rachel, what the utter hell were you thinking today?" There was a pain to his voice that made her feel instantly guilty.

Rachel met his eyes, the guilt quickly replaced by coolness. "I was thinking I wanted to work the case."

Sam nodded. "I get it. And I want you here, working with me. But you're pregnant, okay? And it's not the … the thing … in you I'm worried about, it's—"

"The _baby_ ," she interrupted, giving him a hard, focused stare. "It's a _baby_ , Sam. Not an alien or a dragon or a thing. It's a _baby_."

He gritted his teeth. "That _thing_ is far from an innocent baby."

Rachel's brow creased. "That _thing_ is half me."

Sam clenched his jaw, massaging his temples. "And what about the other half? The soul-sucking, raping monster half? The half that'll be stronger than it's bastard father was?" He stepped closer to her. "Look, we got really lucky with Jack. That doesn't mean this thing is going to be anywhere close to that."

" _Baby_ ," Rachel repeated, eyeing him. "It's a baby."

With a growl, Sam turned away from her, pacing by the motel closet. "I refuse to call it a baby, Rachel," he argued, his back to her. She saw his bare, broad muscles tense, each one working overtime as he yanked at his hair. "That son of a bitch raped you, and he put it there. Whether or not it's half you doesn't matter. The only half of you it would be would be in its vessel." Sam looked back at her, seeing her distressed look. "I can't consider it as anything but a thing. Not after what he did to you."

"You're not the one carrying it," Rachel reminded him, stepping toward him. "You're not the one who will feel it move inside of you, or feel yourself grow as it does. How can I not consider this a baby?"

Sam gnawed on his bottom lip, examining her. "Easy. Just remember that if I don't do anything about it, this _thing_ in you that you call a _baby_ will kill you, without a second thought. Then it'll grow up to rape and kill, just like Daddy."

Silence washed over them. Sam immediately regretted his harsh words and tone, but kept firm, hoping it might drive sense into Rachel. This wasn't the battle he wanted to have. He knew it would follow after quickly, but right now, all he cared about was keeping her safe from a potential guild of vampires and rugarus. The identity of what was in her womb would be debated later. "So," he sighed deeply, trying to push aside the topic and focus on what mattered, "given what Dean found in that pit, do you blame me for being upset with you?" As he moved closer to her, he saw her tensed expression. "Rachel, between vamps, rugarus, and your current condition, it's like asking for trouble for you to be alone. Can you at least agree with me on that?"

Rachel fumed, throwing her hands up. "I need to be normal, Sam! I need to not feel like ever since I've met you that I've been nothing but this weak, pathetic burden you and your brother carry around." Her jaw tightened. "I've felt downright useless for the last six weeks of my life. _Six. Weeks_. Do you know what that feels like?"

"I have an idea."

"Then try having some empathy," she challenged, her hands on her hips.

"I am." He bridged the gap, taking her hands. "You're _never_ useless with me. Never."

Rachel scoffed. Sure she was. What possible good could she do for him, if not hunting? She had nothing to offer besides that. She sure as hell couldn't ever give him the normal life he craved. "Sam, I can't be …" Rachel paused, swallowing back her words. She had no idea if Sam even thought of her as a potential wife or mother of his children. She couldn't screw things up more than they already were.

"You can't be what?"

"Nothing."

"Sweetheart, I know you don't want to feel this way, but this is reality. And I need to keep you safe. The only way that can happen is if you stop acting like nothing is different and start recognizing that it is."

Rachel's brow tightened slowly, looking over Sam. "You said no matter what, it didn't change things," she replied, her voice soft, but her tone cold. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, realizing how it sounded as she withdrew her hands from his. "But yet, here we are. So I'll do you a favor and leave."

Sam took hold of Rachel's arm as she passed. "That's _not_ what I meant, and you know it."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't." Rachel broke free of Sam's loose hold, grabbing her bag.

"For fuck sake, Rachel!" Sam growled. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, _Samuel_ , I can't do this anymore." She stuffed her clothes in her bag, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach as best as she could as Sam came up behind her. She only stopped because his large hands clamped down on her wrists, crossing her arms in front of herself. "Stop it," she grumbled, tugging against his hold, her head feeling light with each jolt. "Dammit, let me go now!"

As she spun around to try to face him, Rachel's eyes fluttered, the room swaying mercilessly with her jagged motion. Her stomach heaved, but nothing came out. White and black spots dotted the corners of her vision, Sam's concerned face fading into blackness as she slumped into his arms.

* * *

An hour later, Rachel slowly blinked her eyes open. The first thing she saw was Sam intently focused on her laying in their bed. He was fully dressed, including his jacket on. His long fingers stretched across her brow, moving the damp washcloth from her forehead and dabbing away the residual beads of moisture left behind. "What happened?" she asked, seeing the pronounced darkness under his eyes.

When was the last time he actually slept well? She knew Sam had nightmares quite frequently. Laying to close to him each night, she had felt his pained struggles, his frantic words laced together in barely coherent speech. Most times, he wouldn't wake, at least not when she noticed. Still, she knew the quality of his sleep had to have been terrible, given how restless he could be at times. It showed now in the tiredness carried under his beautiful eyes, a stress tangible enough for anyone to see.

"You passed out," Sam replied, sounding rather calculated as he adjusted the motel blanket over her. "Which is why I need you to tell me what you want to eat so I can go get it for you."

Rachel flicked her eyes to the clock. "It's after midnight."

He wouldn't be moved. "You need to eat." He waited, his fingers skimming down her cheek. His looked damp. Had he been crying?

"Sam." She stroked his face, heart breaking as she touched him. He had been; the dampness coated her fingertips. "I ... Please don't stress. Just something from the vending machine is fine," she offered. All she wanted was for him to hold her.

Still, despite his gentleness, his expression was one not to be argued with. "What sounds good from the store, sweetheart?"

She sighed. "Milk, broccoli, and peaches?"

"More milk and broccoli?" Sam quickly took out his phone and looked up nutrients on an internet search. "Baby, we need to get you to a doctor. It's saying here that you could be lacking calcium and folic acid, both of which you really need right now."

"I don't have a doctor. And anyway, I can't go to one. Not if I'm pregnant with a nephilim. How would I explain that?"

Sam cupped her cheek, and Rachel leaned into his touch. "You need to go anyway. I'll find you one." He stood, swiping up his wallet and tucking it into his jeans. "I'll be back in a little bit." He leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "Please. Rest."

As he pulled back to scan her eyes, she nodded. "Yes, sir," she whispered, knowing it would comfort him. It did. He planted his lips on hers, kissing her languidly as he cradled her head. Ultimately, he was right. Whether or not she felt useless wasn't something he could change, despite his best efforts. If she didn't let him take care of her, she'd only contribute to his stress, the worries that wrinkled his brow and blackened his eyes. It was then she decided that she would pretend in secret. If she only had six more months to live, she could have some sort of a happily ever after with him pretending it was his baby she was carrying, and then die in the midst of assumed ignorance.

Sam reluctantly parted from their kiss, wanting nothing more than to hold her and keep her close. Still, he knew what she needed, and he would get it. Nothing would stop him from taking care of her in the best way he knew how, not even the idea of an evil monster growing in her. After she passed out, he reconsidered his approach. He needed her to be safe, healthy. For her sake, he decided to pretend it was his child inside of her-without telling her, of course. He felt no attachment to the fetus, but if it meant she would stay safe if he considered it a child rather than a monster, he would do whatever it took. "Love you," he murmured, kissing her cheek before he straightened and left the room, locking the door gently behind himself.

* * *

Sam took a deep breath, knocking on Dean's room two doors down. Dean scratched at his hair as he opened the door, brow raised. "She kick you out?" he managed, his voice slurred from sleepiness.

"I need the car keys," Sam explained, receiving the expected look of confusion from Dean as he let himself into the room.

"Why?" Dean asked, closing the door behind him.

Sam rubbed his brow, his stress at an all time high. "I need to get Rachel food."

"There's a vending machine outside."

"I know that. It's not good enough."

"Isn't it good enough until morning?"

"No."

"She's a hunter, Sam. I'm sure she's had less or worse."

Sam's jaw ticked. "She needs real food."

Dean scoffed. "She's got you whipped already."

"I'm not whipped. She needs food. So, give me the keys."

"Only whipped guys say they aren't whipped." Dean pursed his lips. "You never got _me_ a burger at midnight."

Sam raised his brow. "Can we not do this right now?"

"I'm just saying. I'm your brother, and you never got _me_ burgers I wanted at midnight."

"That's because you were never _pregnant_ , Dean!" Sam shouted, immediately kicking himself for saying it aloud.

Dean froze, his jaw dropping at an agonizingly slow pace. "What?"

"She's pregnant, Dean," Sam announced unceremoniously, flopping his arm to his side. He was rambling, his mind on overdrive. "Rachel's pregnant, alright? She just passed out an hour ago because she puked up everything she ate today when you came out of that hole. She said just get something from there, but I said no, because she needs something with nutritional value. And she needs supplements, and soon a doctor. Which, I have no fucking clue how that will work out. And in general, I don't know how the fuck I'm going to do this, but all I know is, right now, she needs food, so give me the damn keys!"

Dean's eyes were rounded like saucers, his body still as stone. "Pregnant?" he nearly squeaked.

"Yes. Keys."

"... Dude. You're gonna be—"

Sam sighed. "Not mine. Arioch's."

Sam didn't think Dean's eyes could get any wider, but they did. "Oh fucking shit."

"Yeah. So … now you know. Keys."

"What the hell is she doing here with a vamp—" Dean stopped, seeing his brother's death glare. He cleared his throat. "—Nest. Right. That's my fault. Had I known, I—"

"It doesn't matter right now. Please. _Keys!_ "

Dean retrieved his car keys and handed them to Sam, still looking shocked. "So, that's what's going on between you two?"

Sam nearly crushed the keys in his palm. "Yep."

"Well, fuck."

"Yep."

"Sam, this isn't good. She won't … She might not—"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, trying to remain patient. "I love you. I do. But, I need to focus on one issue at a time. And right now that's getting her food." He wet his lips, looking at his brother as he gave him his room key. "Just … Keep an eye on her while I'm gone, 'kay? Like, literally. Watch our room. Please. I don't trust anyone in this dump of a town."

Before Dean could reply, Sam was gone, the Impala's engine turning over only a few short moments later. "Holy crap," Dean said, sitting on the edge of his bed and tugging on his boots. "Shit just got really real."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam drove twenty minutes away to the first grocery store he could find that was open twenty-four hours a day. The parking lot was mostly empty, and so was the store. He got some raw broccoli, and he added cupped peaches, French bread, saltines, cubed cheese, grapes, bananas, a pouch of pre-cooked chicken, prenatal vitamin supplements, a half gallon of milk, and a motion sickness band that he had no idea if it would help.

At the self-checkout, Sam spotted a small, black stuffed dog plush, unable to help but raise a brow at its unusually large green eyes. On a whim, he picked it up, spotting a name written on the tag attached to its ear:

ROBBIE THE RETRIEVER

He sighed deeply, dropping his head. Of course it would be named that. He laughed to no one but himself, a sad recognition of how cruel the world could be. In that moment, he wasn't sure whether to buy the dog or tear its stupidly cute head off. With a grumble, he scanned its tag and chucked it in the bag, not thinking about it any further as he finished checking out.

"Agent … Elliott, right?" a voice behind him said as he was about to scan the prenatal vitamins.

Sam swallowed, attempting to cover up the box with his right hand as he turned to the owner of the voice. He was about Sam's age, dressed in jeans, boots, and a tee shirt, shorter but well-built with buzzed blond hair barely noticeable under his Carhartt cap. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The man smiled, offering his hand. "Luke Benson. I'm a deputy sheriff in Cawker City. I met your partner earlier today, Miss Markson."

With a quick swipe across the scanner, Sam slid the prenatal vitamins into the depth of the plastic bag, politely offering his hand just after. "Nice to meet you. Guess word gets around quick in Cawker City."

Luke gave him a nod. "That it does. Being that y'all are looking for the missing tourists, I couldn't help but want to talk to you for a bit regarding things. So it's good I ran into you here. Sheriff Ferris ain't exactly keen on outside help, if you take my meaning."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

Luke stuck his hands in his pockets after setting down the can of chew and case of beer he was holding. "Well, Miss Markson tried to ask him a bit about things, but Bill didn't tell her everything." He glanced over his shoulder. "I can't let the truth go untold just 'cause of pigheadedness, you know?"

"What truth?" Sam asked as he finished paying, taking up his three bags.

"About those people. We had a couple kids say they saw the woman at the lake 'bout two days ago, including Randy, Bill's nephew." Sam's brow arched as he listened. "Still don't know where either of them are, but I thought you should know they're likely still in the area."

"Thank you," Sam said softly with a nod. "That does help." He paused. "What are the other kids' names?"

"That, I reckon, is where I have to draw the sharing line," Luke said solemnly. "Legalities and everything, them being minors and all."

"So, Randy is eighteen?"

"Yes, sir. Planning on being a sheriff like his uncle. His daddy's a bit sore he don't want to be in the wool business, but I can't say I blame the kid."

Sam shifted his weight, evaluating Luke. "Kinda late for a beer run," he noted with a friendly smile.

Luke laughed. "I could say you've got a bit of groceries for only passing through." He took up the beer and the chew, looking into Sam's eyes. "Guess we all have our vices, huh?"

"Guess so," Sam replied, holding his gaze for a long moment. "Thanks for your information, Deputy."

"My pleasure," Luke said as Sam began to walk away. "Oh, hey Agent," he said, halting Sam. Luke cleared his throat. "Not trying to be inappropriate, but I'm sure you understand my interest. Is Miss Markson seeing anyone?"

Sam's smile was stiff, cold. "She is. She's taken."

Luke laughed. "'Course she is. Beautiful girl like that probably has a line of men waitin'. Guy's gotta try, right?"

Sam didn't respond, giving him a soft nod before turning and walking out of the store.

As Luke watched him, he took out his cell phone, pressing a contact and waiting for the call to connect. "Hey, Bill," he said, still focusing on where Sam left, "might want to get ready to speed things up."

"Why?" Sheriff Ferris asked with a grumble.

Luke's smile grew. "Because they ain't Feds."

"Hunters?"

"Mmm-hmm. And I know why that pretty girl of theirs smells so damn good. Tell you what, if you want the first tap on her blood, then I get dibs on her meat ahead of George."

"You're insane. That's not how the guild works, Luke."

"Then maybe I'll just keep her for myself, like you did with that last missing gal," Luke threatened. He laughed through Sheriff Ferris' hesitance. "See, that's how this works now, Bill. You wanna break the rules old Georgey made, you have to pay the price."

"Fine," the Sheriff growled.

"Good boy. Now, set up the lake for tomorrow. Those boys won't be coming out with her." Luke hung up the phone and licked his lips. "Mmm. Can't wait to sink my teeth into that juicy little stomach while he watches."

* * *

Sam's knuckles whitened around the plastic bag handles he gripped, more than relieved when he was back on the road behind the wheel of the Impala. Luke's information stuck with him, unsure how he felt about the deputy sheriff and his intel. He knew local law could be hard to work with when they played Feds. Still, it seemed odd that Luke would happen to be there at an off hour of the night, and just feel "compelled" to tell Sam about the woman. It was too clean, too easy. Or, maybe he was overthinking it, and he could possibly get a woman killed for his hesitancy to believe. There didn't seem to be a right answer.

"It's Sam," Sam said as he knocked on the motel room door, Rachel smirking as Dean shot up from his seat across from her on the bed, eyes wide. Dean had fallen back asleep after an awkward exchange between them that avoided any mention of pregnancy, though she was fairly certain he just found out and was trying not to seem like it. "Thanks, Dean," Sam said as Dean opened the motel door.

"Sure, Sammy," he replied, giving him a nod as he stifled a yawn. His brows furrowed as he looked at the bags. "I'll, uh, see you two tomorrow."

The brothers swapped keys, and Sam watched as Dean successfully got back into his motel room, then shut the door and locked it with a sigh. "Alright, I've got a few options here," he announced, bringing the bags to her.

"Sam?" Rachel asked, making him pause. "Did you tell Dean?" Drawing in a deep breath, Sam nodded. "Okay good. Because he was looking at me like I was glass about to shatter, so I figured as much. He didn't say anything, though."

"I'm sorry, I should've asked you first. He was being insistent and it just came out and—"

"It's okay," she assured. "I'm glad it's out in the open." She patted the space next to her on the bed. "Come get some sleep."

"After you eat." Sam brought her everything he bought. "I got a few different things, because I figured you needed variety." He laughed when he saw her surprised look as he took things out. "Probably went a little overboard."

"What's in that bag?" Rachel asked, pointing to the one he clutched in his hand.

"Oh." Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking out the prenatal vitamins. "Some supplements and a motion sickness band. No idea if it'll work, but I figured it was worth a shot."

Sam put the band on her small wrist. Rachel gratefully ate a banana and some chopped raw broccoli from the zip bag, Sam moving toward the mini fridge to pour her some milk. "I'm sure there's a good OB in Lebanon we can look into once this is done," he said from across the room, working on opening the vitamins to give her a dose. "I'll do some research on it. Wanna make sure they are well-rated and not a psychopath." Finally uncapping the bottle, he took out two pills, bringing them and the glass of milk back to the bed when he saw Rachel examining the stuffed dog. Sam cleared his throat. "I, uh … It was … I saw it, and …It's for you."

She looked up at him, a genuine smile on her face, and he swore he saw a hint of a tear in her eye. "It's adorable, Sam, thank you," she said, running her fingers over the soft fur. "I always wanted a dog when I was a kid. But my parents hated them."

Sam swallowed, grateful he wouldn't have to explain the real reason he bought it. "I'm glad you like it," he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed with her supplements and milk.

She rested the toy down and took the pills, drinking the entire glass of milk like she was dying of thirst. "Wow, that tastes good," she sighed happily.

Sam laughed as he wiped away a small rim of milk from Rachel's upper lip with his thumb. "Want more?" he asked. She nodded enthusiastically, her happiness a soothing warmth from the cold grip of fear that had settled over him.

Two more glasses later, Rachel was yawning heavily, and Sam was stripped down to his boxers, his arms wrapped around her as he held her in bed. She clutched the stuffed dog, stroking it as Sam ran his hand up and down her back. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Stop thanking me," he teased. "I told you, you're mine. Mine to love, mine to take care of, and protect." Sam kissed her forehead, drawing in a deep breath as he felt her settle in, her breathing slowing as she fell asleep. "No matter what," he whispered against her skin, sleep finding him soon after.

* * *

Sam woke later that morning, his eyes still shut as he reached for Rachel's warmth. Only, his hands fell on cool sheets, her side of the bed empty. Sam bolted up, heart racing. "Rachel?" He listened, not hearing anything. He immediately flew out of bed, throwing open the bathroom door and flicking the light on. Rachel was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, sleeping against the cold tiles, glasses crooked as her right cheek rested on top of the stuffed dog he bought her. "Baby girl," he said, brow knit as he stooped down and stroked her left cheek. She slowly roused from her sleep, blinking hard as she focused on Sam. "What are you doing in here?"

"Got sick twice," Rachel managed. "Wasn't sure if there'd be another."

Sam lifted her into his arms, holding her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head, cradling her as she kept hold of the toy. "Tell me what I can do," he whispered against her hair.

"I don't think anything, Sammy," she admitted, breathing in his scent. It was comforting. She was more than exhausted after a restless night of nausea mostly spent on the bathroom floor. She didn't want to risk waking Sam, so she opted to stay in the bathroom.

Rachel hadn't been calling him Sammy for long, but Sam knew she was the only other person on the planet who was allowed to besides Dean or his mom. She started using it the night before last, when she told him she was pregnant. He was surprised, but he also knew how much comfort it seemed to give her. It was a nickname that he used to hate, now reserved for the three people closest to his heart. Sam nuzzled her, bringing her back to bed with him and tucking blankets over her as kept her close. He withdrew her glasses and set them on the nightstand. "Rest. I'll call Dean."

"I can't hold you guys up," she argued, her face half-buried into his chest. "It's the last thing I'd want to do."

"You need to sleep."

"But—"

"Shh."

"Sam, you need to work the case. Just go without me. I'll be fine."

Sam shook his head. "No way in hell I'm leaving you alone in this crappy ass place with vamps and rugarus around." He paused, his gears turning. "And I don't think I'll have to." Sam picked up his cell phone from the nightstand next to him, dialing Dean's number.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked, more panic to his voice than he likely wanted to let on.

"We're fine. Rachel needs to rest today, especially if we're trapping tonight. But I'm not leaving her alone, and I'm not letting you go solo."

"Maybe Cas could watch her?"

"That's what I was thinking. If Cas could watch her while we—"

Rachel gasped as Castiel appeared in the motel room with suddenness that scared her. She clung to Sam's arms, trying to lower her heart rate. "Shit, Cas! Every single time!"

"Sorry," Castiel said, though she wasn't sure if he was listening. "I heard Sam, and came."

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear. "I barely said your name."

"I know. Scanning angel radio for an archangel who doesn't hate you and Dean hasn't exactly been entertaining."

Sam laughed. "Dean, I'll meet you at the car," he said on the phone, hanging up. He sat up, balancing Rachel as she sat up with him. "Cas, can you watch over Rachel for a bit? She needs rest, and Dean and I need to get intel for a vamp nest and rugaru takedown."

"Of course," Castiel said, looking at Rachel. "But you're not going?"

Rachel shook her head. "I barely slept. I'd be more of a liability than I already am." As Castiel focused his impossibly blue eyes on her, he slowly smiled, it nearly growing ear to ear with pure, unadulterated happiness. "Cas, your smile is kind of creepy right now."

"Oh. Sorry." Still, the grin remained as he turned to Sam. "I will keep them both safe," he assured enthusiastically.

Rachel's brow arched. "How did you …?"

"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel said. "Of course I would know these things." She had never seen him look more sincere. "Are there any special instructions, Sam?" Castiel asked.

"I'm not a casserole," Rachel quipped with an arched brow.

"Of course you're not. But I wanted to make sure, since you are very important to him. Given you're now pregnant, I—"

Sam's face wrinkled with slight stiffness and another emotion Rachel couldn't pin down. "Just … Make sure she eats and keep her safe. No one in or out but me and Dean," Sam said, kissing Rachel's forehead before standing to get dressed.

Castiel nodded. "Of course. I'll watch over her and the baby."

Sam tensed visibly, pausing at the word "baby." He sniffed, jaw flexing as he opted not to reply. Silently, he shrugged on his jeans, a fresh tee shirt, socks, and his jacket, sitting on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. Rachel watched, assaulting the portion of the blanket underneath her hand with her fingers. "When will you be back?" she asked, hating how desperate she felt for Sam's protection and warmth. Still, though Castiel was powerful, he wasn't Sam.

"As soon as I can," he replied gently, giving her a kiss that left her no question as to how he felt about her. He didn't rush it, taking his time as he tasted her. "I'll text you," he promised as he gave her a sweet, tiny peck on her forehead, straightening. "Thanks, Cas," he said, giving him a small nod before he left.

The door shut, and Rachel sighed, watching Castiel stand at the foot of the bed. The angel looked confused, like he was desperate to talk, but waiting to be asked. "You okay, Cas?" she asked, suddenly feeling naked even with covers over Sam's shirt and her panties she wore to bed as he nearly bore a hole through her with his eyes.

"Rachel," Castiel began slowly, "Sam _does_ know about the baby, doesn't he?"

Rachel stared at him, dumbfounded. It seemed like a really stupid question, especially coming from an angel who didn't even need to be told she was pregnant. "Uh, yeah."

"And does Dean?"

"... Yes." She shook her head, seeing his wrinkled brow. "Cas, what's wrong?"

Castiel rubbed at his temples. He was clearly distressed. "I just … can't figure out …" He paused. "I would've thought Sam would be … different. It's not what I expected from him."

"Well … he's certainly not happy about it, given the circumstances. I mean, it wasn't something either of us wanted."

"Oh." Castiel was silent for several long moments. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, wasn't aware you didn't."

Rachel laughed softly, shaking her head. Castiel was really confusing her. "Why would we want this?"

Castiel's voice got quiet. "Many do. I hear their prayers. They pray for it quite often."

"Really?" Rachel was stunned. Why would people pray to carry a nephilim? It seemed utterly random and downright sadistic. Castiel nodded, confirming. "Well, then they're insane."

He shrugged. "I don't think it's insane, so much as … normal?"

"Nope. People can't be normal if they want this," Rachel argued, gesturing to her stomach. She sighed. "But, what can we do? I mean, we can't just kill it … well, I don't think we can. We haven't really explored options. So we have to make it work for now, I guess."

"... Right. Of course."

She studied him, seeing the distress in his eyes. "Cas, why are you so concerned? I actually thought _you_ would react much differently. You know, given who you are."

Castiel nodded. "Because I'm an asshole angel," he concluded, a slight bitterness in his tone.

Her lips parted. "No! I mean … you are an angel, and—"

"It's fine, Rachel," Castiel assured in a soft tone. "You were created with free will. You don't need to conform to any standard."

Rachel could still tell Castiel was thinking it over through his subtle body cues, but he busied himself by sitting in the armchair near the window, taking up a magazine from the small motel desk. "Cas?" Rachel asked softly.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Could you … Could you put me to sleep?"

He gave her a gentle smile, standing as she shimmied back under the covers. "Of course. I should've thought of it earlier. You need your rest for the—" He paused, examining her eyes as he stood above her. "—for the night ahead," he finished, tapping her forehead with two fingers gently before she could reply. Rachel's eyes shut, a deep, peaceful sleep overcoming her.

He stood over her for a few moments, brows knit together as he tried to process what Rachel said. "I'm sorry, little one," Castiel murmured, his hand hovering over Rachel's stomach that was covered by blankets. "They were given the choice, just as you would have if you were born." He sighed, his face pained as he connected to the impossibly tiny life in Rachel's womb, his fingers flexing in the air over her. "I will try, though. I will try my best to help them see how special you are ... before it's too late."


	6. Chapter 6

Despite knowing Castiel's power, being away from Rachel was worrying for Sam. He couldn't shake Castiel's look from his mind's eye. It seemed that, somehow, the least likely member of Team Free Will to want a nephilim of Arioch's brought into the world was the one most excited about it. It didn't make sense, but then again, Castiel didn't make sense sometimes. Still, the guilt the angel stirred in him wouldn't settle, another raging storm cell in Sam's already chaotic mind.

"Alright, so we've got a pit of dead sheep and a mostly eaten body of one of the missing." Dean sipped his coffee as they drove back toward town. "And Rachel said there's a guild. We know the sheriff is at least involved, possibly others."

"So the vamps and the rugarus are working together?" Sam asked.

"Seems like it. One hell of a teamup."

"I'm guessing things got little crowded for a town this size, so they have to split the kills to keep things quiet."

"And the sheep are for when things get dry," Dean added.

Sam glanced at Dean. "Why the supplies, though? Why would Randy need them?"

"For those on tap, I figure."

Sam drank some of his own coffee. "I ran into a deputy sheriff last night at the grocery store."

"At midnight? Out of town?"

"I know. It seemed a little … convenient."

"What did he say?"

"He said that some teens spotted Kelly Kipley out by the lake a couple days ago. Including Randy Ferris."

"Sneaky little—"

"We don't know if the deputy is telling the truth, Dean. He could be trying to split our focus."

"You think he's involved?"

"I have no idea. But I don't trust him. Hell, I don't trust anyone here."

Dean pulled up to the main road of town, slowing as he spotted two sheriff vehicles ahead pulling out of the lot with speed, lights flashing. "Looks like we found our first stop," he said, following them.

The drive took them to the lake, pulling up just as the sheriffs were exiting their vehicles. "Hey, fellas," Dean called out, gaining a man's attention. "Agents Russell and Elliott. What's going on?"

Luke looked them both over. "Ah, gentlemen. Good to have you here." He stuck his hand out to Dean. "Deputy Luke Benson. Met Agent Elliott last night." Luke gave Sam a nod.

"Sheriff Ferris isn't coming?" Sam asked.

"He's busy back at the station," Luke replied. "Paperwork and the like. A body was found by a fisherman this morning," he added solemnly. "A woman. Come on."

As Luke took the lead, Dean whispered to Sam, "Paperwork my ass. More like sunlight."

Sam's eyes narrowed as they neared the developing crime scene. He looked at the mauled body laid out on the shore, examining the woman's face. "It looks like Kelly," he said to Dean softly as they squatted down next to her.

Dean took a pair of rubber gloves offered and slipped them on, rotating the body. His nose wrinkled when he saw the sections of missing flesh across the back of her arms, hips, stomach, and thighs. "Damn."

"Body looks to be about a day or two postmortem," Sam noted.

"Looks like the fish got to her," Luke said, lowering to their level.

"Big appetite and teeth for lake fish," Dean replied, looking at the Deputy. "Don't you think?"

"What else would it be?" Luke shrugged. "Nothing in that water besides 'em."

"No larger species?" Sam asked.

"No, sir."

Dean felt the woman's pockets, not surprised when he didn't feel a wallet or ID. "Nothing on her," he said.

"My boys will take a DNA sample and have it sent to your field office," Luke offered. "Might take a week or so for the results if we use the state lab."

Sam swallowed, looking to Dean discreetly at the mention of the FBI field office. "You know, our field office probably won't be any faster than state labs," Dean shrugged. "So long as you keep us in the loop, we can just go that way."

"You sure, Agent Russell?" Luke asked with a focused look.

Dean nodded, smiling. "Positive." He gave Luke a friendly pat on the back. "Now, some business we haven't discussed: Where's the best place to get a couple cold ones tonight?"

Luke grinned. "The Lodge. Brookman's is where everyone goes to have a drink or two. It's got a nice small town feel to it."

"Perfect." Dean nodded. "In the meantime, Agent Elliott and I will be asking some of the locals some routine questions, if that's alright. I'll be needing to include the sheriff's brother in that mix too."

"Understandable, Agent. I'm sure Troy will be happy to accommodate you both." Luke looked between them. "Is Miss Markson off the case?" he asked.

Sam forced his disgust back. "She's working with our field office today on some things," he replied.

"Ah. She sure is a nice gal." Luke shifted his weight, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's likely me just being a bit of a country boy, but I'd keep an eye on her wandering around these parts on her own. With this poor woman, I'd just be worried for her."

"Agent Markson can handle herself," Sam replied, holding Luke's gaze.

"I'm sure she can, Agent Elliott." He shrugged. "Just want to keep an eye out for the gal."

"Are you suggesting your town has more of a problem with predators than you're leading on?" Sam asked, taking a hair of a step closer to him.

The Deputy laughed. "Oh come now, Agent. Now let's not start jumping the gun. All I'm saying is, a pretty gal like that is bound to be noticed. And if there is someone 'round here still, I'd hate for anything to happen to her."

Seeing Sam's anger, Dean gave Luke a friendly smile. "Of course, Deputy. Thanks." With a nod, Dean signaled Sam back to the Impala, turning over the engine once they got in. "Okay, that was obvious," he grumbled as they drove toward Troy Ferris' farm.

"Tell me about it," Sam replied, jaw stiff.

"No, I mean you," Dean corrected. "Shit, Sam. Just go ahead and advertise to all of Cawker City that she's your weakness." Sam remained silent. "Look, I know you're worried about her being with Cas, but-"

"How could I not be?" Sam asked, eyeing him. "For all we know, we just chatted it up with a rugaru."

"Or, he could be a plain ol' human." Dean sighed. "Cas is a pretty powerful angel, Sam. She'll be fine." He looked over to Sam, seeing the worry on his face and in his body. "Send him a text. It'll ease your mind a bit." Between driving, he saw Sam type a quick note on his phone, the relief evident when he received a reply. "So, uh … When did you find out?" he asked, wetting his throat as he focused on the road. "About Rach?"

"After we got back from the bar couple nights ago," Sam replied softly, staring down at his phone as he re-read Castiel's reply:

 **All is well. Rachel is sleeping and nothing has happened.**

"Are you …" Dean paused, trying to select the best words. "Are you sure it's not yours?"

Sam's brow shot up. "What?!"

"I'm just saying … if it was—"

"It's not," Sam replied with a scoff. "We've … used protection."

"It's not foolproof."

"Dean," Sam shook his head, "it's not mine. I highly doubt my sperm would beat a race with a grigori's, if it was even possible, which it's not."

Dean scrunched his nose at the thought. "So, we need to figure out how to kill it."

"Yep. And quickly." Sam's nostrils flared as he played with the hem of his jacket. "I don't know how long of a window we have within the next six months. Hell, I don't know anything about this."

"You're the research king. You will."

Sam kept his focus on the window, watching the open countryside pass by. He never thought his heart could ache as much as it did in that moment. After Jess, he hadn't fully let himself care for anyone. He had been too afraid to, until the tiny little brunette quite literally crossed into his life.

Everything about Rachel drew him to her—her smile, her strength, her intelligence, her wit. It was as if the first time he saw her eyes, a switch flicked on inside of him that he had forgotten was even there. Her touch lit his skin on fire, her scent drove him insane. Nothing compared to the way she felt in his arms, against his skin, and on his lips. Her heart was massive, her head strong, and he had never known a woman who affected him so intensely like she did.

The grass and sky disappeared from view as Sam sunk into his mind:

 _"Where's Rach?" Dean asked, holding a bottle. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt from the job they just got back from._

 _"Shower," Sam replied, not looking up from his laptop at the library table at the bunker._

 _Dean took a long drink from his beer. "What the hell are you doing?"_

 _"Research."_

 _"We just got done a Salt and Burn. Can't you just relax for a minute? I don't know, maybe take your girlfriend out?" Dean grinned. "Or stay in."_

 _Sam's brow rose. "Please don't …" He sighed. "She's tired. I'm tired. And I'm taking her out tomorrow anyway."_

 _"Unless you find a case." Dean strolled over to Sam, who quickly minimized the window he was on. "What's so secretive, Sammy?"_

 _"Nothing."_

 _Dean rubbed his chin. "Dude. You've got a hot little brunette naked in the shower down the hall. Why are you watching porn?" His face wrinkled in disgust. "And why are you watching it out here? For crap sake, do that shit in your room."_

 _Both brothers turned when they saw Rachel standing in the doorway, running a towel through her hair. She was dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and a cropped tee shirt that showed a healthy slice of her stomach. Dean pursed his lips, looking her over. She was attractive, he wouldn't ever deny that, nor was it easy to ignore. He cleared his throat. "He's watching porn," he teased, tilting his head to Sam._

 _"No I'm not!" Sam shouted, shooting Dean daggers with his eyes._

 _"Porn," Dean whispered. "Lots of porn. Kinky shit too."_

 _Rachel smirked, blotting her long, dark hair with a shrug. "It's research, Dean," she said. She looked to Sam. "Can't wait to hear all about what you learn, baby." With a wink, she left, adding a bit of sashay to her step, knowing the brothers were both watching her intently._

 _"Dude." Dean's eyes were glued on the now empty hall where Rachel disappeared. "Marry. Her."_

 _Sam sighed, pulling up the website. "That's the plan." He gestured to the screen, showing Dean the engagement rings he was looking at._

 _Dean's eyes rounded. "For real?" He looked like a kid in a candy store, his excitement nearly palatable._

 _"For real," Sam replied. He cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. "I know it hasn't been long, but … I love her. She's the one, Dean. And … hopefully she feels the same way."_

 _"Pfft. That girl is crazy about you. I mean, she has to be to resist me." Dean took a drink. "That one." He pointed to Sam's number one pick._

 _Sam looked at the intricate ring his brother pointed to. "Yeah. It's perfect." He sighed. "But it's expensive."_

 _"Time to hustle some idiots at pool." He slapped Sam on the back. "After you go consummate the crap out of your relationship."_

 _Sam's brow wrinkled. "Yeah, I'm going to need you to not go there." He looked over at him. "I know it's a bit premature, but I was thinking about asking Cas to be my best man. What do you think?"_

 _Dean eyed him. "I'll kick your ass if you're serious right now, bitch."_

 _Sam smirked. "Jerk."_

Sam blinked rapidly, the countryside coming back into view as Dean drove, breaking him from his memory. "I can't … I can't lose her, Dean. Not like this. Not at all."

"We'll find a way," Dean assured, feeling far less confident than he sounded. "She's family. And we take care of our family, right?" He saw Sam nod out of the corner of his eye. "Damn straight we do."

* * *

Rachel blinked hard, rubbing her eyes as she focused on her surroundings. It was considerably darker in the motel than it had been, and she knew some time had passed. Her nausea seemed non-existent, which she knew had to have been from Castiel's touch. "Cas?" she asked softly, slipping on her glasses. The room was empty. A new sickness formed in her, her throat suddenly dry as she stood from the bed. Leaving the lights off, she snagged her knife from the nightstand and gripped it tight as she inched near the foot of the bed across from the bathroom door.

She jumped when it opened, immediately pinning the large figure against the wall and pressing her blade against his throat. "It's me, Rachel," Castiel managed, feeling the tension in her fingers as he let her keep hold of him, afraid she would strain herself if he made any sudden movements.

Rachel withdrew the blade, hanging her head as she sighed in relief. "You scared the crap out of me, Cas!"

"Sorry."

Her brow raised. "What were you doing in there? Do angels … pee?"

Castiel laughed. "No. I was attempting to get a text message sent through to Sam, but the reception has been awful. Pretty much non-existent."

"Weird." Rachel folded her knife, tossing it on the bed and selecting some clothes from her travel bag. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Can you go back in the bathroom for a minute?" She showed him the bundle of clothes in her arms, laying it on the bed.

"Of course."

Rachel chewed on her lip as she watched Castiel shut himself back in the bathroom. With a deep sigh, she quickly dressed into jeans, a v-neck t-shirt, and her sneakers, tying her hair up in a ponytail before trying the light. "Cas," she called out, hints of panic tainting her tone, "the lights don't work." She repeatedly flicked the switch, her hand shaking a little.

Castiel came out of the bathroom, trying a table lamp. "No power." His brow wrinkled, trying to turn on the light despite his previous attempt.

Sweat coated Rachel's palms, her heart speeding up as she thought about the possibilities. Snagging her phone from the nightstand, she saw a series of text messages and missed calls from Sam. She tried calling him back, but it gave her an automated message of no connection. "I can't get ahold of Sam," she said, trying to send a text to no avail.

A rumble resounded outside the room from the parking lot. Still, it wasn't the Impala's familiar tone. It was accompanied by rowdy hoots and hollers, whoever was in the car obviously intoxicated or close to it. "She's upstairs, boys," one man said with a cackle.

"Rachel," Castiel said firmly, "get in the bathroom. Now."

"But—"

"Now. Arm yourself and get in the bathroom."

Heart racing, Rachel went to her bag, grabbing her gun and tucking her knife in her jeans. "Cas," she whispered as he drew her behind himself, shielding her as he backed her into the bathroom.

Castiel looked down at her for the briefest of moments; his eyes seemed to pierce through her. "Stay in there, no matter what," he ordered; a shiver ran up Rachel's spine from his dark tone.

"Cas, you—"

"I mean it. Don't argue. Stay inside—I'll get you when it's finished."

Before she could object, Castiel closed the door with his mind, locking it. Rachel shivered, the voices now eerily muffled through the layers of wood. She waited, listening as the owners of the voices approached the room.

"Knock, knock," a male's voice said on the other side, eliciting some chuckles from apparent companions. "Come on, pretty girl. Don't make us ruin this door."

Rachel gasped as the door blasted inward, hearing the cries of men being slammed into the wall by what she assumed was Castiel's power. A slice of bright white light seeped through the cracks of the door. Rachel heard men groaning and the distinct sound of Castiel's wings flapping as the light grew brighter. Shortly after, several punches were thrown, by who she couldn't tell. She only heard the sickening crunch made as fists knocked into skin and bone, over and over until she was sure whoever was out there could no longer be alive.

With suddenness, the room got dark, silence washing over the scene. Rachel clutched her gun, backed into the corner as she listened. She heard footsteps circle the room, but no voices. She was tempted to call out Castiel's name, but remained silent, waiting. The steps grew closer, and Rachel's pulse sped up, dread lining her stomach. Still, her grip was sure on her gun, her jaw set as she readied herself.

The door burst open, Rachel's eyes wide as Castiel's body slumped through the opening. She gasped as she saw his condition. His face was barely recognizable, beaten to almost a pulp, thick smears of blood painting over his skin and clothes. His white shirt was nearly completely red, his nose out of place and his lips parted in defeat. His vessel was demolished.

With a snicker, Deputy Luke Benson stepped into the room, cocking his head to the side as Rachel aimed her gun. She saw the carved sigil brass knuckles lining his thick hands. "He was tough, but it's kinda hard to win a fight six to one. Specially with these." He stepped closer, licking his lips. "See, the whole place has eyes and ears, pretty girl. We knew you were in the pavilion. You think we're sloppy? Hell no. We just enjoy the game. It makes your blood race, and it smells so good. It's a rush." He smirked. "Normal investigators … we let 'em go. It keeps it all quiet for us. But hunters? Well, they're the real danger. So we make sure people like you and the Winchesters aren't the only ones with tricks up their sleeves." He laughed as she cocked her weapon. "Your motel manager here gave me a call soon as you checked in. No safe place to hide for your kind."

Rachel fired the gun repeatedly, emptying her entire clip into Luke as he approached. "Oh honey," he said with a smile, "don't you know you can't kill a rugaru with a gun?" She screamed as Luke grabbed her with an unnaturally powerful hand, sniffing her. "Damn. That little thing you're cooking is making you so juicy. Hell, I don't think I can wait another minute to take a bite of you." He ran his hand over her cheek, she powerless to move under his grasp. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, "I'll be sure to let your boyfriend know how tasty you were before I eat him and his brother. My boys probably have them tied up right about now. Sammy will make a nice dessert."

Pain tore through her as Luke fed on her neck, his teeth sinking into her flesh and ripping it from her bones. Her agonized cries were short-lived, her eyes closing as Luke took her life, feasting on her, blood pouring from every inch of her frame.


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel's scream was bone-chilling as she bolted up from the motel bed, sweat covering her brow. Immediately, Castiel was next to her, flicking on a light next to the bed. His eyes searched over her as he knelt beside her. "You're alright," he assured, gently touching her shoulder. "Whatever it was, it was a nightmare."

Blinking rapidly, Rachel focused on the room around her. None of what she just experienced was real, but it felt more than real. She could still feel the tear of her flesh, and see Castiel's shredded face. Her head pounded with a level of painful pressure she never felt before. She squeezed her eyes shut as she held it, not realizing she was shaking until Castiel wrapped a blanket over her shoulders. "Shh," he urged, tender as he dabbed her sweaty forehead with a tissue.

"Sam," Rachel whispered, slowly lifting her head and staring blankly at the wall across from her. "We need to call him. We need to leave this town."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "Rachel, Dean and Sam will need to end this by taking out the vampires and rugarus."

She shook her head violently. "There's too many. They'll never survive. You don't. I don't. None of us will." Rachel took hold of Castiel's hand. "Please. You need to back me on this."

He studied her, tenderly stroking her hand. "You had a vision," he concluded, a curiosity in his eyes.

"I guess. What's the difference between that and a dream?"

"A vision would give you a massive amount of pain. Did it hurt? To have the vision, I mean?" She nodded, the throbbing in her head seeming to nearly make her skull explode. Castiel touched her forehead, sensing the pain. "Easy. Rest," he urged, as if coaching her body to calm. Rachel shut her eyes in relief as the pain slowly melted away, a warmth overcoming her and erasing the shivers left behind from her vision. "There. Better?"

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling on the verge of tears as she saw his face smashed in her mind's eye. She leaned into his touch as she wrapped her arms around him. Castiel swallowed, respectfully embracing her back. "Please, Cas," Rachel said against his chest, "I need you to help me convince them to leave." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "They need to form a team, then come back with a plan. They'll never survive otherwise. Not just them."

Castiel studied her for a long moment, then nodded at her. "Alright." He seemed stressed as he examined her. "The visions … Is this your first one?"

"Yes."

"They are normally only brought on by special circumstance."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when Sam had them, it was because he was near a demon named Azazel. Others, because of other powerful entities." His eyes flicked down to her stomach. "Yours might be brought on by your child."

Rachel's eyes widened a little. "Are you saying that the baby …?"

"Quite possibly."

Before she could ask anything else, Castiel took out his phone and dialed Dean's number, keeping his eyes on Rachel as he spoke. "Dean, you and Sam need to get back to the motel. … No, she's fine. … I know. She's … Sam. Sam, calm down. No, she's fine. … Yes. But we need you both here. … Just, come back. It will be explained." Castiel pulled the phone away from his ear. "Sam wants to talk to you," he whispered, handing her the phone.

"Rachel?" Sam asked, his tone more than desperate as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Baby girl, you okay?"

"I'm alright," Rachel assured, despite the gory mental images she couldn't seem to erase from her mind's eye.

"What happened?"

"Just … Just come back."

"Tell me."

"I will. But I need you here."

"But—"

"I'm okay, Sam. I promise. Just come back."

"... Okay. We're about five minutes away. I love you."

"I love you too."

Rachel handed the phone back to Castiel, who hung it up and put it aside, still looking down at her. "You need food," he decided, crossing to the mini fridge and taking out some items. He handed them to her in order of importance. "Protein. The magazine said it's important for muscles and strength."

"The magazine?" Rachel asked, nibbling on some of the precooked chicken from the bag.

"The Cosmopolitan, I believe."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Is that what you did while I slept?"

He nodded. "It had a section about health. Well, it mostly talked about sexual intercourse, of which I didn't think … you would need ..." He paused, clearing his throat. "But it mentioned a good diet for a few sentences in regard to stamina."

"Oh, Cas. I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Reading Cosmo is essentially torture."

"I enjoy keeping you both safe." Castiel handed her a glass of milk he poured. "Calcium. Also, vitamin D." He watched her drink it, taking the empty glass from her as he gave her some crackers. "Carbohydrates. For your energy."

Rachel looked up at the angel, feeling her eyes tear, already cursing her hormones that surged in eighteen different directions. She twirled the square-shaped cracker in her fingers. "Cas," she said softly, "if I'm having visions, does that mean … the baby will be evil?"

Castiel paused, concentrating on her eyes. "No one can know the future of those given the gift of free will. But I can't imagine how it would be with you as its mother." He offered her a smile.

"What about its father?"

A shrill ring of Rachel's cell phone interrupted her. It was Jody Mills. "Will you answer it?" Castiel asked.

She shook her head. "Not now. I'll call her back later. I just … I need Sam and Dean to be here first."

"I hear someone calling my name," Dean teased as he came first through the door. "She sounds cute."

Rachel bolted from the bed, wrapping her arms around Dean's neck, who held her with a warm embrace. "Hey, kiddo," he said gently, kissing the top of her head. He felt the residual fear in her small body, and it triggered every defensive brotherly instinct he had. She had become like a sister to him, and knowing what he knew about Sam's "research," he hoped to eventually make that a reality. "You'd better go see Sammy before he figures out about us," he teased, watching with a soft smile as Sam stole her from him, drawing her flush against himself and crushing his mouth over hers.

"You scared the shit out of me," Sam whispered, threading his fingers through her hair. He paused, feeling the vibrations of her trembles, the fear surging back through her. "You're shaking," he murmured, immediately guiding her to the bed and putting the blanket back on her that Castiel had earlier. He rubbed his hands over her arms as he sat beside her, holding her to his side. "What happened?"

She focused her large brown eyes on the blankets, feeling unable to speak. "She had a vision," Castiel said, giving her a small nod as she looked up at him.

"About what?" Dean asked, brows furrowing.

"Here. The vamps and rugarus," Rachel replied, looking to Dean. "There's too many, Dean. This town … everyone is involved. Or nearly everyone. It's far too deep for only two hunters to take on."

"What exactly did you see?" Sam asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Rachel looked over, searching his hazel eyes. "They beat Cas' vessel to death, then … the one … ate me." She flicked her eyes to Dean. "They had you trapped. They knew you weren't with me. And he said something about the lake being a set-up. It's how they feed. They get people as tourists, but nearly anyone who investigates never stays long enough. They strung us along because they knew we were hunters."

"We kinda figured it was," Dean said gently. "But … I'm guessing your vision doesn't end well for us."

She shook her head. "Everyone is involved. Even the manager here," she confirmed. "There isn't anywhere to go. The entire town is corrupt. You'll only take some of them out. But you can't possibly win with their numbers."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was studying Rachel, then back at her. "Sweetheart," Sam said gently, "it likely was just a bad dream."

Rachel scoffed. "Cas?" she asked, looking to him for validation.

"It was a vision," Castiel confirmed. "I felt it when I healed her of it."

"Still," Sam argued, "we've taken vamp nests down before. And rugarus." He smoothed Rachel's hair. "Besides, we need to. We can't let them continue to hurt people."

"And I'm not saying you should," Rachel argued back, looking into Sam's eyes. "I'm saying you need backup and a solid plan. This isn't one you two can wing."

Sam glanced at Dean, who was deep in thought. "Then I say we pack up and leave town," Dean concluded with a nod to Rachel. "Let's meet at the car in ten."

Before Sam could object, Dean was gone. Pressing a quick kiss to Rachel's head, Sam chased after him, shutting the door as he faced his brother on the balcony. "Dean, that vamp has her scent," Sam argued. "If I don't gank that bastard, he'll keep hunting her for life."

"If she's right, Sam, then she's best at the bunker, away from here," Dean argued back. "You know she's safest there. Besides, we'll take care of him. We just need to heed her warning."

"Since when are you so easy to trust visions?" Sam asked, brow wrinkled.

"Since I felt the pure fear in that girl of yours," Dean replied, his tone darkening. "Sam, I could've crushed her in there, she's so weak and scared."

"I know that," Sam snipped. "I also know that she doesn't need to keep looking over her shoulders for a psychotic vamp."

"Get her to the bunker, then we'll gank 'em all." Dean shook his head. "Why are you fighting this right now? You, of all people. I'd thought you'd be dying to get her back there."

Sam's nostrils flared. "Because, Dean, I know how the visions work. They're triggered by a strong presence of some sort, like Azazel or others." He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "And this one is likely triggered by that thing in her. How can I trust it?"

"You trusted the visions you had," Dean quipped. "Right when we were in the middle of old Yellow Eyes, you didn't doubt for a second. Why doubt hers?"

"Because I'm trying to keep her safe."

"Isn't the bunker safe?"

"What if escaping right now is a trap?"

Dean sighed, lowering his head. "You always overthink things," he muttered. "Sam, the baby is—"

"Fetus," Sam corrected, Dean meeting his eyes. "That … thing … isn't a baby."

After a long moment of staring hard into his brother's eyes, Dean continued. "That baby is half Rachel. So unless you're saying your girlfriend is evil, then you need to consider the whole."

Sam swiped his hand over his face. "Fine," he said, still on edge. He went back into his room, slamming the door. Rachel jumped as she pulled up her yoga pants, Castiel gone. "Sorry," Sam murmured, seeing he scared her.

"It's okay," she replied, finishing tugging them up, her loose crop top flowing over the waistband. For a moment, she watched him silently pack, moving to him when she saw his tension as he stuffed his bag. "Sammy, what's wrong?" Her hand slid over his forearm, and he stopped.

His eyes shut, his head hanging. "I'm just …" He sighed, looking over at her. "I'm just scared for you." His jaw ticked as he swept her hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid that the …" He swallowed. "... the baby could be leading you wrong."

Rachel searched his eyes. "Cas said you had visions years ago that were triggered by a demon. But you believed them."

Sam drew her to himself, his lips finding her hair. "I know. I guess I … I was young. I didn't think. I was alone, and it was only my life on the line. And now that I have you, I'm terrified of losing you."

Her small hand reached up and rested on her face. "I know it's my fault you're so stressed. I should've stayed behind. I just … I don't know how I'll be able to spend six months straight in the bunker."

"You won't," he promised. "And you won't be alone." They shared a simple kiss, Sam sighing deeply as they parted. "When this is over, you'll have the life back that you once did. I promise you. I will give you that as soon as I can."

"I just want you in it," she replied, laying her head on his chest. "You, Dean, Cas. That's all that matters to me."

Sam smirked. "You know, Dean adores you."

Rachel pulled back. "Really?"

He nodded. "You're like a sister to him. Believe me. I really thought he would beat the shit out of me over you a few times." The idea made her both incredibly happy and teary, several escaping as she tried to fight the emotions. "Oh, baby girl," Sam soothed, pulling her close.

"I'm fine," she laughed against him, sniffing. "It's these damn hormones that are making me into an emotional pile of mush."

Sam chuckled, stroking her. "I probably shouldn't tell you how much Cas likes you then, huh?" He planted kisses over her, patting her back. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of Cawker City."


	8. Chapter 8

**_S13 E17 "The Thing" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

 ** _This chapter contains some semi mature content._**

* * *

 **One Week Later**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Rachel's vision proved to have much merit—upon their return back to the bunker, Dean and Sam contacted area hunters, organizing a takedown over two days. With a long kiss goodbye, Sam left with Dean to rid Cawker City of the vampires and rugarus, barely successful even with the numbers they had. Though they didn't say it, both brothers agreed that, had Rachel not urged them to leave, they likely wouldn't be alive.

It was late when they shuffled in, bruised, bloody, and tired from the exhaustive fight. Rachel was there, immediately tending to both of them with the first aid kit while Dean scarfed down the apple pie she made nearly single-handedly, and Sam devoured two helpings of the veggie casserole she cooked. Full stomachs and patched wounds, the three crashed for the night, Sam more than relieved to hold Rachel tightly to himself despite his aching muscles.

The next day was spent researching, as other days before, to find something about The Seal of Solomon for the rift to save Jack and Mary. Still, like previous times, nothing seemed to reveal itself, leaving the three feeling even more exhausted than the day before.

Sam woke early the next morning, his nose buried in Rachel's hair as he held her to himself. Despite how good it felt to be safe at the bunker with Rachel close to him, he was unable to calm his mind. Knowing she needed her rest, he gently untangled himself from her and slipped on a brown and blue plaid shirt and jeans, creeping down to the maps table and taking up some of the books they went through the day before. He rubbed his brow, eyes heavy as he focused on the text.

Somewhere along the line, he fell back to sleep, only roused by what felt like a gentle touch on his back. At first he thought it was Rachel, but then he blinked and saw Dean, who looked suspicious as anything. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, sitting across from him with a cup of coffee. "Whatcha reading?" Still, Sam wasn't convinced. He straightened, covertly checking his shirt. Everything appeared in order.

"Well, um … I finally found something on the Seal of Solomon, but it's really weird."

Dean failed to hide a weird smirk. "Hit me."

"It says, 'Then mighty Solomon commanded unto his priests, Bind my Seal. But the jewel was of the cosmos.'"

"'Jewel of the Cosmos?'" Dean asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe a meteorite?"

"Hmm. Well, forget what it is, where the hell would that be?"

Sam sighed. "It doesn't say."

"Where the hell would what be?" Rachel asked, carrying her own cup of coffee and an extra for Sam into the maps room.

Sam smiled up at her, taking the cup. "The Seal of Solomon." He was exhausted, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative of her yoga leggings and flowy t-shirt that showed a little more cleavage than usual. "Thanks. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nope. He did." She tilted her head to her stomach. "Had to pee, then I realized I was starving. Even though I finished the pie in the middle of the night."

"'He?'" Dean asked, eyes wide. "And my pie?!"

"Or she. I had to pick a pronoun. Feels like a he anyway."

"Dean Junior, obviously. The kid likes pie," Dean smirked with a nod, sipping his coffee.

Sam raised a brow at him. He knew his brother was trying to make light of the lingering elephant in the room, and that it was best for the moment. "What makes you think anyone would want another Dean around?" he teased.

"Hey," Dean grumbled.

"I was thinking of something unique," Rachel said, sipping her coffee with a completely serious face. She leaned against the counter behind her, tucking loose strands of hair from her ponytail behind her ear. "Maybe like Wedgewood. Has a nice ring to it."

Both brothers looked at her, brows raised. She had such a neutral, believable expression on that both were convinced she was being honest. "Wedgewood?" Sam asked, dumbfounded.

She nodded. "Woody for short. It's so cute."

"For fuck sake, that kid is going to suffer eternally," Dean said with a shake of his head.

"Wedgewood?!" Sam repeated, his pitch higher. "I mean, Wedgewood Winches—" He froze, ice running through his veins as he saw Rachel's eyes round a bit. He cleared his throat. "Wedgewood Lentz. Woody Lentz," he quickly corrected, his throat suddenly dry. "That sounds like a really weird cartoon character, or a D-list actor."

Rachel's smile was a little delayed, still trying to process Sam's slip-up. Was that … did that … what did that mean? He was going to say Winchester for her child's last name. The child he didn't father. Not Lentz. The idea made her stomach flutter. She managed to smirk after working through her nerves, looking between both of them. "Kidding, guys," she assured, both still shell-shocked.

"Do you play poker professionally or something?" Dean asked, sipping his coffee.

"No, but I play from time to time," Rachel shrugged.

"Dude. We're taking her to Vegas."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, trying to cover up his obvious mistake with ignorance. "Well, at least we won't have to beat up kids for teasing little Wedgewood."

Rachel laughed. "Can you imagine? That'd be a damn shame to do to someone. Even a nephilim."

Dean nodded with a grin. "Even asshole angels don't deserve names like Wedgewood." He turned back to Sam. "Okay," he exhaled, "we've got blood of a holy man, fruit from the Tree Of Life … But this piece of kryptonite … we've been through every book in this place, and we've got squat."

Sam sighed. "Alright, I guess we should check the archives. Again." He stood, grimacing at the idea.

It was then that Rachel noticed the Post-It notes littered on his broad back. She kept her expression neutral as she caught Dean's eye for the briefest of moments, keeping his secret much to his delight. "Again?" Rachel yawned.

"Again."

"Great," Dean said with a pissed off look, sipping his coffee.

* * *

Sam flicked on the lights in the archive, all three of them sighing as they looked at the racks. "I'll go left," he said, "you go right," he said to Dean, "you go center," he finished to Rachel.

The three divided, Dean sarcastically commenting, "I love books!" as he pumped his fists in the air.

Time dripped through a sieve, each taking down books and flipping through them. After a short while, Dean made a happy, surprised face that caught Rachel and Sam's attention with enthusiasm before Dean shook his head. They groaned, pouring themselves back into research. Hours passed, each more drained than before. When Dean fell asleep with a snore, Sam banged on the table to wake him up, catching Rachel's own stifled yawn out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm starved," Rachel said a while later, pressing her forehead into a book she was reading.

"I'm with her," Dean agreed, standing and stretching. "So, what does Wedgewood want?"

Sam couldn't help but smile. Somehow, Dean had taken something dark and made it bearable. "Hopefully Chinese," he said, raising his brow at Rachel.

Rachel lifted her head and nodded, standing as she stretched her arms. "Yep. Steamed dumplings and lo mein." She took up a stack of books and began re-shelving them.

"Sweet." Dean stood, taking out his car keys. "Usual vegetable shit, Sammy?" Sam nodded. "I'll be back in a few."

Sam watched as Dean left, standing and craning his neck. "So, what's a guy gotta do around here to get a kiss from a beautiful girl?" He sidled up to Rachel, taking her by the hips and running his fingers up her waist, tracing her skin under her shirt.

A hum resonated in Rachel's throat as Sam nipped at her jaw. "I don't know. What would he be willing to do?" she teased.

"Anything," he replied, his voice thick and husky as he tasted her skin. With a devilish smirk, he yanked her toward the table, his hands roaming over her backside with a moan, the thin fabric of her yoga pants not leaving much between him and his prize.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her hands finding his belt and latching on. She shut her eyes as his tongue darted across her neck.

With a sweep of his hand, the books on the table fell to the floor. He lifted her and sat her on metal surface, his hands roaming over her as he sought her mouth with his. "Kissing you," he replied as he took a breath, his lips finding the side of her throat.

"Sam," Rachel murmured, his name soft as a prayer as she ran her hands through his hair. She gripped it as he growled, his mouth traveling south to her collarbone, then to the valley between her breasts that her shirt exposed. He skimmed the sides of her chest, his fingers exploring her with a squeeze.

When she winced, he immediately pulled away, the classic worried look in his eyes. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said, clearly upset. "I … I didn't …"

"No," she assured, shaking her head. "It's just … they're a little sore." He nodded, still gingerly handling her like she was about to break. "Sammy, I'm okay," she said, stroking his cheek.

Sam pulled her up to stand, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then backing away, starting to pick up the books that he had tossed to the ground, replacing them on the shelf nearest to him. Rachel's brow furrowed, watching him. A switch had flicked off in him, his mood shifting dramatically. "Sam, stop," she said, seeing him pause, too caught up in the moment to even care about Dean's prank stuck on his shirt. "You didn't hurt me."

"I'm glad," he said quietly, sincerely.

Her eyes narrowed. "You know our relationship doesn't stop because of this, right?"

He turned to her. "Of course it doesn't."

"Then get over here and kiss me and stop acting like you're afraid to break me." For all of his height and build, Sam couldn't have looked any more unsure of himself. "Now, Samuel," she said, eyeing him.

Sam took her in his arms, giving her a gentle kiss for a moment before claiming her mouth, ravaging it with a heady groan as she mewled into his mouth. He sat her back on the table with little grace, nudging her legs apart as he stepped between them. "Say it," he whispered, needing to be sure as he caught his breath.

"Yankees," she whispered back, kissing his jaw.

His eyes rolled shut, his fingers tightening around her hips. "Good girl." He slid her backside toward him so his member was pressed against her. "God damn," he growled, "I fucking love yoga pants." He stripped her tee shirt off, her bra quickly following as he planted kisses over her shoulders and chest. With a pause, he gently took one of her breasts into his hands, feeling the difference in size and in her reaction. Her hormones had already started altering her, and he was careful as he kissed it, minding how much more sensitive she had become. Still, she encouraged him, her fingers threading through his hair as he lavished attention with his mouth and fingers over both sides.

"Food's here!" they heard Dean shout from the entrance of the bunker, the door shutting behind him with a solid bang.

Sam grumbled as he pulled away; Rachel couldn't help her smirk as she saw his frustration. "Later," he promised, handing her the smooth black bra he had taken off of her.

"Promise?" she asked, slipping it on as he watched.

He grinned, cupping her face for giving her one last kiss. "Hell yeah, baby girl."

* * *

Chinese food consumed in the kitchen, the three went back to research in the archives. Sam stood, rubbing his eyes as he tried to get his mind around what they were doing. Still, all he could think about was both how Rachel felt just a little while ago, and the impending changes yet to happen. Her belly would grow, her hips spread, her back and feet would be sore. It wasn't the physical aspects of the changes that worried him at all, but the idea that those changes were taking place because of what Arioch did to her.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't doing a good job at pretending it was his child she was carrying. All he could think about was that bastard whenever signs of her pregnancy peeked into their daily life. Sure, Dean had attempted to ease it all a bit, but it still was hard to ignore. And it all had been stirred up when he realized his touch now hurt her, because of Arioch.

"I'm taking a break," he announced. Dean mumbled something, Rachel only flicking her eyes up to him briefly before reabsorbing herself back into the thick text she read from a giant, dusty book.

Sam left the archives, heading for the kitchen as he stretched his legs. He passed by the small mirror on the wall, pausing as a colorful paper caught his eye. He backed up to it, his brows raised. "Oh come on," he grumbled, trying to stretch to see how many Post-Its were stuck on his back. "Are you kidding me?" He swiped at them, unable to reach them. "Dean! Rachel!" Both Dean and Rachel came into the room quickly, but not because of Sam's summon. "Are you serious?"

Dean paused, clearly distracted. "What?" Sam pointed to the Post-Its with a scowl. "Oh, it's hilarious," he said with a smirk.

"And what about you?" Sam asked Rachel, raising his brow. "You didn't say a word. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm not a rat. And it was pretty funny," Rachel confessed with a chuckle.

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "I'll deal with you later," he warned, unable to help but curl his lip as he looked at her.

"Forget that," Dean interrupted, carrying some files and setting them on the table. "Look. The Men Of Letters found it." He slapped the stack. "Solomon's treasure."

Sam stopped, his gears immediately shifting. "Where?" he asked, approaching the table.

Dean pulled out a file. "Nineteen seventeen, in what is modern day Israel," he replied. "According to this, they dug it up, and … here." He pointed to a section of text as Sam sat, Rachel folding her arms over her chest as she watched next to Dean. "Take a look—right here."

Sam's brow creased as he read. "Uh … 'Among the items found, a crystal that glowed with an unearthly light.'"

"That's gotta be The Seal, right?" Dean asked, arms raised.

"It's gotta be. Where did they take it?"

"Uh, it says they took it to Capitahlum Seven in Portsmouth, Rhode Island."

"Capitulum," Sam confirmed, Dean agreeing. "Capitulum means 'chapter housing.'" Dean nodded again.

"The bunker is in the geographic center of the country," Rachel noted.

Sam nodded, catching her train of thought. "So the Men Of Letters only has one bunker, but they have smaller outposts all over the place. Capitulum One is in Jamestown, and Capitulum Seven, I guess, is in Portsmouth, Rhode Island."

The brothers looked at each other, smiles crossing their faces. "There it is," Dean said, arms outstretched. "Jinkies," he added with a grin, giving Sam a knowing nod.

Sam's brow creased, staring at Dean. "You're going to stop saying that eventually, right?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Probably not." He clapped his hands together. "Look." He smiled as he pointed to the paper. "Let's go!"


	9. Chapter 9

**_S13 E17 "The Thing" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

 ** _This chapter contain mature content._**

* * *

Rachel watched as Dean left, looking up at Sam as he stood. She was genuinely happy, but she saw the conflict in his eyes. "This is amazing," she said with a smile, taking the Post-Its off his shirt and throwing them in the garbage.

"Yeah," Sam replied, still kind of astonished. He took Rachel's hands. "You … You shouldn't come."

She nodded. "I know," she assured.

"I'll ask Cas to—"

"Sam, you don't have to. I'll be fine by myself."

He didn't look comfortable with the idea. "I don't know …"

She laughed. "This is the literal safest place I could be, dufus," she teased, pulling him toward their room. "Come on, let's get you packed."

"Uh-uh," he said, snatching her wrists, his eyes seeming to darken as he looked her over. "You still need your punishment."

"That can wait," she chided. "Dean will beat down the door."

"Let him," Sam said, keeping her close. "If I'm going to be on the road for a week, then there's no way in hell I'm not making love to you before I go."

Rachel squeaked as Sam picked her up, riding the high of Dean's discovery as he carried her to their room, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck as he kicked the door shut. "You," he said, nipping at her neck as he grabbed her backside, holding her to himself, "were very bad today." She sucked in a small breath as he easily lifted her a little, settling her core against his growing bulge. "You left those notes on me." His tongue ran over the shell of her ear, his teeth gently tugging her earlobe.

She shivered as he turned them around, sitting on the foot of the bed and keeping her tightly pressed to himself on his lap. "A punishment is in order," he continued, his large hands wrapping around her waist as his lips brushed hers. "But first, say it." He waited, breath heavy as he leaned his forehead against hers.

"Yankees," she breathed with a shudder, feeling him stir against her.

"Good girl."

Sam yanked off her shirt and bra, groaning as her hands worked on the tiny white buttons of his shirt. He loosened her ponytail and flung the elastic across the room, gripping her waves like a lifeline. He didn't give her time to finish his shirt, lifting her and laying her back on the mattress with a flop, grinning at her as he pulled her pants and panties off at the same time, her socks quickly flying to the corner wall.

Rachel's breath caught in her throat at the raw way he looked down at her, a side of him she hadn't seen since they first made love. For weeks, he had been gentle and careful, despite his insistence on her repeating the safe word. He had slowly built up to this moment, one she wasn't sure would ever come. His happiness seemed to unleash him, letting him be free for the moment as he eyed her like a coveted prize, his intentions more than clear.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he finished unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off and chucking it to the floor. She bit her lip as she watched him give her a show, deliberately unbuckling his belt, then drawing off his socks, boots, jeans, and finally his boxers. "You're so beautiful," he said, examining her. Then, like a flash of light, he was on her, his hands everywhere, his mouth not far behind. The more she gasped and moaned, the hungrier he grew, his appetite for her seeming to be endless. She was sweet and salty under his tongue, the flavor of pure addiction. He covered her with licks, nips, and kisses, marking her, owning her, worshipping her.

Soon, Sam's face was between Rachel's legs, reveling in how her back arched in anticipation, his breath flowing over her aching center. He shuddered as he took his first taste, propelled by her breathy call of his name. "Mine," he groaned, attacking her like a starved man. He was famished. It had been far too long since he felt as free with her as he did in that moment. Because of his eagerness, it didn't take long for her to fall over the edge, Rachel biting the back of her hand to douse her scream as Sam lapped her through her orgasm.

"Please," she whimpered as his fingers stroked over her center when she came back down, still sensitive but aroused.

"Please what?" he asked with a smirk.

"Dammit, Sam," she growled as she sought more friction.

"Hmm. Impatient little girl. Time for that punishment."

Sam easily lifted her backside off the mattress, giving it a gentle smack. He watched as her mouth rounded into an O shape, turning her over and groaning as her ass was presented to him like a present. "Fuck, baby girl," he groaned, his hands latching onto her with a feral grip as she remained on her knees, her forearms flattened to the mattress.

Rachel shut her eyes as Sam filled her with a growl, barely giving her time to prepare. Though they had made love several times, she still felt the delicious stretch as he entered her, more pronounced by the position she was now in. "Sam," she shuddered as he slowly worked his hips, unable to form any words besides incoherent syllables as he picked up his pace, reaching a feverish beat. She gasped as he slapped her backside once, twice, then a third time as he muttered tortured curses through clenched teeth, she unable to hold back her wanton moan.

Her head was light as Sam wrapped his right arm around her waist, drawing her gently up off the mattress toward him. "Oh fuck," she shivered, the angle pressing against the exact place she needed him.

"Goddamn, you feel good," Sam panted in her ear. He kept his rhythm as he fully supported her, his hands splayed over her upper stomach between her breasts and bracing her hip as he drove into her. He knew she was approaching her climax from the way she tightened around him, and he leaned closer, jutting himself deeper in her. "Don't you dare come yet," he warned in a husky tone.

"Sam—"

"Uh-uh, little girl. This is your punishment. You come when I say." He kissed her neck, his lip curling up in satisfaction as he heard her whimpers of resistance.

"A … pretty harsh punishment … for Post-It notes," she managed, her breath choppy as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Trust me," he assured, "it's for your own good. This orgasm needs to last you a week."

"I can't—"

"Yes, you can." He suckled on her earlobe, his hips working harder against her. "And you will."

She fought herself with everything she had, knowing Sam's promise was one that delivered before. "Yes, sir," she shivered, gasping as he lifted her ever so slightly, increasing contact and making her fight that much more difficult.

"Good girl." He kept the rhythm going for a few long moments, his hand finding her swollen breast and massaging it gently, eliciting a fevered moan from her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Sammy, I can't—"

"You're mine," he reminded her. "And I'm going to make sure you're taken care of. But you need to wait just a little more."

"Y-Yes sir."

"Good girl." He suckled her neck as he thrust, feeling his own release peaking. "What do you think?" he teased. "Think I should let you come?"

"Yes ... sir ..."

"Manners."

"Yes, sir, please! Fuck, Sam!" she growled as he chuckled.

"Okay, baby girl, come for me," he instructed, holding her as close as he could as he deepened his drives. He roared her name into her shoulder as she tightened around him, his teeth sliding over her skin as he released in near perfect tandem with her. Keeping her pressed to himself, he fully supported her as they rode their highs together and then slowly descended, her body becoming more like putty in his hands with each passing breath.

Rachel's head dropped, and Sam kissed the back of her neck where her warding symbol decorated her skin, remaining in her. "Talk to me," he urged gently through pants.

"Can't, Sam," she murmured. "Brain doesn't work."

Sam gave her a kiss on the cheek with a smirk before gently withdrawing from her and laying her down. He wasted no time as he tenderly cleaned her, and then himself. It was then that he realized he hadn't worn protection. For a moment, he panicked, until he remembered her condition. Shutting his eyes in relief, he slipped on his boxers, then slid on her panties and her t-shirt, moving the blankets over her. She was out cold; he kissed her forehead, quietly moving to the closet and taking out his bag, throwing some clothes in it quickly so he could get into bed with her.

* * *

Sam woke Rachel just over an hour later, hovering over her fully dressed and in his brown jacket as he stroked her cheek. "Rachel," he whispered, brushing her hair from her face while watching her stir but not wake. "Baby girl." She barely opened her eyes, clinging to his arm as she tried to pull him back into bed. He smiled sadly. "No, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Dean and I have to get on the road."

Nodding sleepily, she sat up, slipping her pants and bra back on. She held Sam's hand as he led her out of the room, his bag over his shoulder.

The coolness of the open space of the bunker helped to rid herself of her lingering sleep. Dean smirked at Rachel's disheveled hair as she went straight in for a hug. "Morning, sunshine," he teased, wrapping his arms around her.

"Any special pie requests?" she asked against his chest. He smelled like whiskey, leather, and a hint of sugar, no doubt from the cookies she made that he likely ate recently.

"Anything. Just don't hurt yourself." Dean kissed the top of her head, smiling as she pulled away. "And tell Wedgewood to save me some, dammit."

"I'll try," she smiled back. "Hey, don't die, okay? I'll kinda miss you if you do."

"Not planning on it, darling," he winked. She watched him climb the stairs to the door and leave, then turned to Sam, who dropped his bag and threaded his fingers into her hair. "How about you?" she asked. "Any special requests?"

"Just be safe," he replied, nuzzling her cheek. "That's all I care about."

"I'll be fine, worrywort." She ran her fingers over his face, enjoying the gentle scratch of his stubble. "Anything else?"

"Some of that veggie casserole wouldn't hurt."

With a smile, she accepted his kiss. It was tender with an undercurrent of heat and control. " _You_ be safe, please," she urged when they parted. "Keep Dean out of trouble. And try not to get knocked in the head, okay? I love that sexy brain of yours."

Sam smirked. "I'll do my best. You have our numbers, Jody's, and Cas, and everything, right?"

Rachel eyed him playfully. "Yes, Sam." She shook her head, picking up his bag and handing it to him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, taking it from her. "No heavy lifting. You know that."

"It's a duffel bag."

"With rock salt and weapons."

"Sam."

He drew in a breath. "Okay," he said with surrender. She followed him to the doorway, where he stole one last taste of her lips. "Love you."

"Love you too, Sammy."

Rachel watched as the bunker door closed, drawing in a deep breath. She plugged in the alarm code, activating the security system. "Well, Wedgewood," she said, patting her stomach, "looks like it's just you, me, and leftover Chinese takeout for a little while."

* * *

 **Six Days Later**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Rachel blotted her hair dry with a towel, glancing at the time on her phone. It was nearly eleven at night. She sighed, stifling a yawn. Over the last several days, she swung between feeling permanently exhausted, and a nervous cooking and cleaning wreck, depending on the texts and calls she got from Sam. Most of them came during the trip there, and then back, Sam citing that their visit to Capitulum Seven was nothing short of a weird time. On his call to her earlier that morning, he mentioned sending a god with tentacles back into another world, and securing the Seal. Then Dean made Sam put her on speaker so he could tell her about how he almost became the god's "man slut."

According to Sam's last text only a short while ago, they were about two hours away from the bunker. Even knowing they would soon be home, Rachel found herself zoning out in the Dean Cave, falling asleep to a movie she attempted to watch on Netflix. Hence, why she hoped a cool shower would wake her up. It worked a little, but not nearly enough against her hormones from the unusual child in her that kept growing wildly stronger each day.

She dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, enjoying the last of her toasty warmth in the bunker. Being as it wasn't a traditional home already, the bunker almost always was cold. She knew as soon as Dean got back, he would reset the thermostat, her preferred temperature far too hot for him. It was her M.O. while they left her alone—she would crank up the heat, and Dean would turn it back down, Sam finding a happy middle without telling either of them, but they both knew anyway.

Rachel slipped on her glasses and focused on her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she braided her hair, failing to capture the shorter pieces that framed her face. Her chest had filled out quite a bit already in just over a week's time; she frowned at the tank top she put on, adjusting it over her bra. Though it wasn't as revealing as she felt it was, she couldn't help but second guess the new, tighter, more daring fit.

All of that vanished, though, when she faintly heard the bunker door open in the distance. She closed the bathroom door with a smile, leaving her phone behind, anxious to greet the brothers. However, she froze in the dark hall, smile faded and immediate fear coursing through her as she heard an unfamiliar voice.


	10. Chapter 10

**_S13 E17 "The Thing" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

"Come on," a man urged in a British baritone, "let's go." Rachel heard a steady gait and the shuffled one of another person, a person who seemed to be gagged, only making indistinguishable sounds.

Rachel's eyes flicked to her and Sam's partially open room door. She crept quietly down the hall, barely slipping into the room through the small opening to avoid moving the squeaky hinges. Rachel grabbed her folded knife, feeling her hips for a place to stow it. There were no pockets in her sweatpants. Frantically, she slipped it in her bra cup and readied her gun, listening for the intruder and his hostage. Who was he? How did he get into the bunker? It would require a special key, and he didn't trip the backup alarm. Was it someone who had Sam or Dean captured?

With a deep breath through her nose, Rachel slipped back out into the hall, her weapon readied as she tried to decipher where the man was. "That's it. Sit down," she heard him instruct. The second person sat with a forced thud, accompanied by chairs in the library scooting across the floor. "Now then. We wait for the boys to get back." She heard a slap of handcuffs around metal. "And don't try running off, though I doubt you've the strength for it. I've got the archangel blade, remember."

 _Cas_.

Was Castiel an archangel? No. He was a seraph. Still, it was clear that the prisoner was one, which meant Sam and Dean were safe and on their way back, at least. And, if she remembered correctly, there were only four archangels in existence, and it just so happened that Sam and Dean needed the grace of one to open the rift. Whoever was now holding the angel captive must have known this and was intending on bargaining with the brothers. But in exchange for what?

She glanced over her shoulder at her phone she abandoned in the bathroom, contemplating whether to go back to it when she heard the man crossing toward the hall where she was. "I've got to use the head." Whoever it was, they knew the bunker, and they knew it well. Still, without Sam and Dean there, she had no idea if she could trust him, and she wasn't about to take the chance.

Rachel waited patiently in the dark until the man approached the hall, quickly pinning him using a technique Dean taught her. The man was tall, well-built, and dressed in a crisp blue suit and brown oxfords, the ensemble complete with coordinating tie and pocket square. The white shirt under it was dotted with bright red blood on the collar. Despite his snappy attire, she noticed the butterfly bandages littering his face, parts of him bruised and cut from a recent fight. She kept her grip, twisting the man's arm unnaturally as she dug the gun against his head. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

The man laughed. "Well, I'll be damned. I wouldn't have taken one of the Winchesters for softening enough for a woman."

"I said, who are you?" she seethed, feeling the power in his muscles as he flexed against her.

With undeniable strength and obvious skill far beyond her own, the man turned the tables, ruthless as he folded his arm on an angle that loosened her grip. He forced her wrists downward, breaking free, then he threw her off himself, her gun skittering away toward the opposite end of the hall. Slamming her chest into the wall, he pinned her arms behind her back, using his bodyweight to trap her. She groaned as his thick fingers clamped down on her skin, his free hand yanking her head backward by her braid. "I think the question is more like, who are you, my dear?"

"Go to hell," Rachel spat as he ground her against the bricks.

"Already been, in a sense. I've found it doesn't agree with me."

"And I've found I don't give a shit."

The man laughed as Rachel squirmed, trying to kick him and free herself. "All that fire." He leaned in, his mouth lingering near her ear. "So, which one do you belong to, hmm?"

She gritted her teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Your fight would suit Dean well," the man noted, "though I doubt he would allow himself the pleasure of such a beautiful luxury for the job's sake. All work and no play makes Dean more fit for one-night pub girls." His tone shifted, watching Rachel for a reaction. "Sam, on the other hand, well … he's always wanted to have the elusive cake of normalcy and to eat it too. Perhaps you're part of that." The man paused. "Though no one's heard of you yet. You must've come after Mary and Jack were lost to the Apocalypse World."

"Who would need to hear about me?"

"Well, darling, if you are a Winchester pet, anyone and everyone who hates them would love to know you exist. You make a pretty piece of leverage."

"Is that a threat?"

"A warning, really. I've no reason to hurt you, so long as you don't do something foolish, like try to alert the brothers of my presence." The man leaned in, tilting her head back ever so slightly more. "But should you rather do things the hard way, I could always leak word of you so it would get back to my former alliance, the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus. He'd be delighted to have an additional weakness against the boys."

Rachel set her jaw, fighting the tremble at the thought. She knew Sam and Dean were far deeper in their work than any other hunters out there, but the title of "Prince of Hell" alone was frightening, let alone the idea that she could possibly encounter him. "You're dead when they get back," she said, keeping firm.

"Yes, yes, well, speaking of—where have the boys run off to, hmm?" He twisted her arm a bit through her stubborn silence, and she swallowed back her cry of pain. "I said, where?"

"Kiss my ass," Rachel growled. The man chuckled and eyed her knife in her tank top, pressing her head to the wall and letting go of her hair. He plucked it from where it was hidden with slow, deliberate fingers, skimming across her breast in turn. "Go ahead, asshole. Take your freebie. It's probably the closest you'll ever get to a woman you don't have to pay."

He laughed. "You're quick witted. I like that." The man flipped open the blade, running the tip slowly along her throat. "Nice piece. A hunter's choice, no doubt." He folded it shut and pocketed it. "So, let me take a _stab_ at your backstory: Lonely hunter girl meets Winchester brothers on some sordid job, and through fate and circumstance, she eventually becomes one of the brother's pet. Am I close?"

"And let me guess yours," she quipped. "An asshole Brit who's obviously fallen far from stature in position, but tries to compensate for it by dressing like a douchebag and acting like a tough guy that he's really not."

The man laughed; it sounded fairly genuine. "I must say, you amuse me. Such fight for such a small package. I can understand why Sam has kept you close." He caught the flicker of reaction in her eye as he leaned even closer. "Ah yes," he taunted in her ear with a satisfied grin, "there it is. So you do belong to Sam. Very good."

Rachel yanked against his hold, angry for revealing herself to him. "Fuck you."

The man yanked her head back by her hair. "Is that an invitation?"

"He'll blow a hole in your head the minute he gets back."

"I'll take my chances. Now then, pretty girl, tell me your name."

"Bite me."

"Come on, then." He waited. "Fine, I'll call you Pet." The man pulled her away from the wall, keeping her braced uncomfortably in front of himself, leaving no space between his front and her backside. "My name is Arthur Ketch. I was affiliated with the British Men Of Letters."

She laughed. "'Was.' Like I said, a Class A failure."

Her insinuation rubbed him, a sneer to his tone. "Listen to me, Pet—I've got a transaction to make with the boys. Simple. Clean. I've no intention of harming anyone, but I certainly have no issue handling any little antics you might try."

Rachel had no real idea where her ballsy brazenness was coming from, other than pure adrenaline. "Aww. Scared enough to threaten a girl, tough guy?"

Ketch scoffed. "Hardly. I just don't need you screwing things up by getting the Winchesters in a tizzy. So, let me show you why you should take my deal, hmm?" He led her to the library; Rachel's eyes rounded as she saw Gabriel sitting in a chair, bloodied and terrified. He looked at her with wide eyes. "This, is the archangel Gabriel," Ketch announced casually.

Her heart ached for the battered angel, who resembled more of a tiny, terrified creature. "You're a monster. What the hell did you do to him?" she gasped.

"I rescued him, not beat him."

"Yeah. Doubtful."

"Yes, well, whether you believe me or not regarding that isn't my concern." He pulled her a little closer; Rachel grimaced at the intimate contact. "As I understand, the boys are currently one archangel short of a spell to create a rift, are they not?" Ketch smiled when she remained silent. "Well, I could just as easily put my archangel blade through him, ending that possibility, if you don't cooperate."

"But you won't," Rachel challenged. "You said you were here to make a transaction. So you need something from them. Can't bargain without a chip."

"Ah, but I've got a lovely spare chip right here," he replied, his lips intimately brushing against her ear. "I'm sure Sam would do just about _anything_ to keep his pet safe." He smirked as she squirmed. "That means that if you don't behave, what I want is still accessible, but what they need is not." Rachel's nostrils flared as she stiffened. "So, you be a good girl, I make my transaction with the boys, and no one gets hurt. Have we got a deal?"

Rachel remembered her gun on the hallway floor, plus the other guns the brothers had hidden around the house, trying to think of how she could cover going for one. "Deal."

Ketch let her go, smiling as he watched her rub her wrists. "Sam surely has splendid taste," he noted, looking her over with a curl to his lips. "Mind telling me your name now, sweetheart?"

Rachel eyed him. "Yeah, I do mind, actually." She looked down at the archangel, her heart heavy as she saw his pain. "He needs to be cleaned up," she said, moving to get the first aid kit.

Ketch snagged her. "Uh-uh. You'll stay right here, Pet."

"He's bleeding!"

"As will you if you don't follow my orders."

Rachel shoved out of his grip. "Go ahead, macho man. Take out the girl half your size, since I'm such a threat." She glared at him as she took a brazen step forward, seeing his hesitation. "Thought so." Turning on her heel, she crossed to the kitchen, snagging the first aid kit, quietly going back to the library.

Gabriel jumped as she set the kit on the table. "It's okay," she assured gently. "I won't hurt you." She opened it, Gabriel shaking his head with a whimper as she lifted a pair of scissors to cut the threads through his mouth. She swallowed as she saw his stressed look, gently touching his beaten face, examining the stitching over his lips. Gabriel shook under her, slowly calming as she stroked him. "It's okay. I'm here to help." She was desperate to free him, but she knew she couldn't do that until she removed Arthur Ketch from the equation.

With a deep breath, she quickly shifted course, lunging at Ketch with the blades. She managed to get a dull slice across his arm before he stopped her, grabbing her free hand and twisting her arm until she screamed in pain. "You little bitch," he growled. Ketch snatched the scissors from her hand, tossing them on the table. As Rachel went to bite his hand, he slapped her across the face, her neck snapping to the right. Her cheek stung as he gripped her wrists and slammed her back against the bookcase. Gabriel whimpered as he struggled to see the fight behind him, catching sight of Rachel as she tried to knee Ketch in the groin. Ketch stepped on her bare foot, and she cried out in pain. "Now, must I bind you, Pet?" He got his answer when she spit in his face. His thick hand connected with her face again, the same cheek burning as he slapped her with fervor, her glasses hitting the floor as her lip caught on her tooth, cutting it. A thin line of blood trickled down her chin. "I can see I must."

Ketch dragged her to a chair and yanked her head back by her braid, shoving her into a seat next to Gabriel as Gabriel squirmed in fear. Ketch grabbed a thick material bandage from the opened first aid kit, binding her wrists around the back spokes of the chair as she fought. "There," he said when he was finished, straightening with a sigh, watching her struggle. He smoothed his suit, stooping to retrieve her glasses. She grimaced as he put them on her. "Shall I gag you too, or can you cooperate at least that much?"

Rachel eyed him, readying a wad of spit. "If I had a dick, this is where I'd tell you to suck it," she sneered, flinging the spit at him, it landing on his upper lapel with a spray to his face.

Ketch took out his pocket square, calmly wiping the spit away. He grabbed her face with one hand and held it firm, she unable to move her jaw as he examined her. "Like I said, I'm prepared to deal with you as needed." He let her go, only to roughly backhand her with a sneer. Ketch then calmly picked up another section of cloth and cut it with the scissors, moving behind her and pulling her head back by her hair. "Enjoy your gag, Pet."


	11. Chapter 11

**_S13 E17 "The Thing" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

The moon shone bright over the bunker when the brothers finally returned. Sam felt the Seal in his hand, the purple rock both jagged and smooth under his fingertips. He rotated it by the chain, glancing at Dean with a chuckle as his brother came down the stairs with a careful gait. "You sure you're alright?" he asked.

Dean smirked. "Considering I was three seconds away from being an interdimensional booty call, yeah, I'd say I'm alright."

"Well," Sam said with an accomplished breath, holding up the Seal by its chain as Dean set his bag down on the maps table, "we have the Seal. So all we need now is an archangel, and we're set."

"Sure," Dean said, pursing his lips with light sarcasm, "that sounds easy."

Sam smiled, knowing how Dean felt in that moment. Still, they were one step closer, which was a bit of relief, regardless. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a bit of movement in the darkened library, expecting Rachel, but not as he saw her. She was bound and gagged, her face reddened on one side, blood staining her lip and chin. He and Dean drew their guns immediately as soon as they saw Ketch holding her. "Wait," Ketch said quickly, holding up his free hand, seeing the venom in both of their eyes, Sam's especially hostile.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled.

"You bastard! Get your hands off of her, now!" Sam shouted.

"I come in peace," Ketch continued, though he kept Rachel close to him.

"Yeah, right. Let her go, or I shoot," Sam warned, his aim sure.

"Easy, Sam." Ketch pushed Rachel forward a bit; Sam's pulse skyrocketed as he looked at her eyes. He saw the bits of fear she desperately tried to keep buried. "I meant your Pet no harm, but I must say, she's quite insistent. And resilient."

Gritting his teeth, Sam took a step forward, Dean holding his own aim steady next to him. His entire being was colder than Rachel had ever seen it, or ever thought it could be, grateful she wasn't on the receiving end. "You've got two seconds to let her go, or I blow your brains out, you son of a bitch."

Carefully, Ketch undid her her gag. Rachel sucked in a few deep breaths, glaring at at him before flinging a wad of spit, landing it on his cheek. "See what I mean?" Ketch said, wiping it with disgust.

"You're lucky I only spit at you, dickweed," Rachel sneered.

"Yes, well, let's not forget about how you tried to shoot me, and then stab me with scissors," Ketch reminded her as he loosened her bonds and urged her forward.

"Keep your hands off her," Sam snarled. His tone shifted as he addressed Rachel, far gentler. "Rachel, get behind me."

"So it's Rachel, then," Ketch noted softly, watching her move behind Sam. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

Sam held Ketch's gaze with flared nostrils, though he followed Rachel's approach out of the corner of his eye. He was comforted when she felt her hand clutch his jacket from behind. "You alright? Did he hurt you?" Sam asked, not moving his focus.

"I'm fine. He hits like a wuss," Rachel replied, relieved to be near him.

Sam wasn't satisfied. He cocked his gun, jaw ticking. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a clip in you," he demanded to Ketch, clearly furious.

"Not even sure if we need one, Sammy," Dean added.

Ketch kept his hands up, knowing he was severely towing the line with the towering hunter and his brother. "I've brought you a gift," he said, a slight quiver to his tone. He carefully moved to the side, pulling forward Gabriel, who looked at the brothers in a confused panic.

"What a second," Sam whispered, brow wrinkled, "is that …?"

"Gabriel?" Dean finished, just as perplexed.

"No, that's impossible," Sam argued as Ketch guided the archangel to sit at the maps table, "he … he's dead. We saw him die."

"Or did you?" Ketch challenged.

"What'd you do to him?" Dean asked, taking in his condition.

"Not me. Asmodeus. The Prince was holding him prisoner until I liberated the poor man. And I understand you might need an archangel for a spell, perhaps?"

Sam kept hold of his gun, staying in front of Rachel as Dean glanced over to him. He nodded softly. "We need his grace."

Gabriel's head shot up, fevered panic in his eyes as he protested against his sewn mouth. Sam and Dean's eyes widened as Ketch urged the hysterical angel to relax. "At at, calm down, calm down." He took a breath. "Unnervy." Ketch withdrew a small vial of glowing grace from his suit jacket pocket, showing Gabriel and the brothers before setting it on the table. "Yeah? Take that. And—" He hesitated as Dean raised his gun when he reached for the blade in his other pocket. "And the archangel blade," he finished with a slight quiver, setting it down next to the vial.

Both brothers were stunned. It was the final piece they were missing. Sam couldn't help but think aloud. "Why would you …?" He paused, cynicism tainted his tone. "What's the catch? What do you want?"

"Protection," Ketch explained. "From Asmodeus."

Dean scoffed. "The one you're working for?"

" _Was_ working for," Ketch corrected. "But when he finds out I stole his prize milk cow, well, I imagine he'll hunt me to the ends of the earth." He looked around at the bunker. "So, this is the only safe place I know."

Sam laughed coolly. "What do you think, you're just going to move in?"

Ketch gave a small shrug. "Dibs on the top bunk?" he joked poorly.

"No," Sam growled.

"Deal," Dean said, nearly overlapping his brother.

"What?" Sam asked incredulously, looking at Dean. "Are you insane? He's _not_ staying with Rachel here."

Dean searched his face. "I'm not a fan of that idea either. But what choice do we have? Look, I don't know what the hell is going on here, but if this helps us get Mom back, if it helps us get Jack back … Sure." He looked to Ketch. "Whatever you want." He tossed his gun on top of his bag, Sam still clutching his as he examined Dean.

"He's _not_ staying here," Sam repeated.

"Sam, we need this," Dean argued.

"He _hit_ her," Sam shot back.

"To be fair, she attacked me," Ketch offered.

"Shut up, or I'll shoot you," Sam warned to him, then turned back to Dean. "I'm not having that psychopath anywhere near her."

"Believe me," Dean agreed, looking at Ketch with a murderous stare, "he won't be going near her."

Ketch held his hands up. "Look. Again, I meant her no harm. However, she was less than cooperative."

"I don't give a shit if she cut your dick off," Sam snarled, stalking toward Ketch until he was within a few feet, cocking his gun. He was nearly foaming at the mouth, rabid and crazed. Ketch flicked his eyes nervously to Dean, seeing the older brother watching with obvious approval. "I swear to God," Sam warned, his tone ice cold, "if you so much as _look at her_ the wrong way, the worst torture you've ever had will look like child's play compared to what I'll do to you." He smiled a little, adding a sadistic edge to his presence as his voice lowered a little. "And believe me, I'll enjoy every single second of it. Then, when I'm bored, I'll finish your sorry ass with my bare hands. Got it?"

With a hesitant breath, Ketch nodded, swallowing nervously as he saw the unadulterated rage in Sam's eyes. Ketch didn't have an ounce of doubt that Sam would deliver on his word. He watched as Sam backed up a bit, then uncocked his weapon and tucked it into his jeans. Sam felt behind him for Rachel, taking her hand and drawing her close. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Ketch; she knew what his tone implied.

"I'm fine," she assured, comforted by the touch of his skin.

"Now," Ketch said, hands up, "if it's alright, I'd like to use the facilities."

Sam didn't take his eyes off of Ketch as he left, gripping Rachel to his side. When he disappeared, he turned to her. She ducked her head to lay it against his chest, thankful to have him near again. "Look at me," he said gently, tilting her chin and examining her face. "That fucking bastard. He's a dead man," Sam growled, his fingertips barely making contact with her reddened cheek.

"You need him," she reminded him quietly.

"We have what he's worth," Sam spat, looking at Dean. "Why the hell should we keep him here? To let Asmodeus come for him and find her instead?"

Dean's brows were knit tightly together, his own anger at Ketch palatable and more than apparent. "Because we need to keep him close until we're sure he's not aiming to triple cross us." He looked down at Rachel. "You okay, kiddo?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," she assured, though she didn't see assurance reflected back on either of the brother's faces.

Sam drew in a deep breath, still clinging to Rachel. "Come on. Let's get you and him cleaned up," he said, nodding to Gabriel.

* * *

By the light of the library, Sam sat in front of Gabriel, carefully using a sharp scalpel to knick at the black threads that shut the angel's mouth. Rachel sat next to him, watching as Sam meticulously removed the bind, sighing in relief when it was finished. They watched as Gabriel moved his mouth slowly. "Gabriel, what happened to you?" he asked.

"Alright," Dean said, carrying his bag over his shoulder and the remaining ingredients and a bowl as he came into the room, "let's do this."

Sam turned, looking at him with hesitance. "Shouldn't … we wait?" he asked.

"Wait?" Dean asked, raising his hand. "Why? We've got everything we need. Everything else is just burning daylight. Come on, let's open this door."

Sam looked to Rachel, who nodded. "He's right," she urged. "There's no reason to wait."

"I don't like you being alone with Ketch," Sam argued softly, glancing at Gabriel. "Neither of you."

"Please. That douchebag won't be an issue."

Sam raised his brow at her. "That douchebag put his hands on you."

"Sam," Rachel whispered, taking his hand. "This is it. You _need_ to do this. For Mary. For Jack."

Seeing she wouldn't be moved, Sam reluctantly nodded, pressing a kiss on her forehead as he stood. "Alright," he sighed. "I'll gather my gear."

"Uh," Dean said, pausing with a turn, catching Sam's attention. "Hold on." He looked at his little brother. "I'm heading in alone."

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Dean, no," Rachel argued, standing and moving next to Sam. "You need Sam to have your back."

"Look," Dean said, glancing between Sam and Rachel, "we've got a busted up archangel here. I sure as hell don't trust Ketch with you, Rach, which Sam can empathize. And who the hell knows what else, okay? Somebody's gotta stay here, just in case."

"Then I'm coming with you," Ketch announced as he entered the room, carrying his pack. He had changed into all black clothing, a large knife stowed in his side pocket. He set his bag down on the table across from them. "As I said, Asmodeus will be hunting me to the ends of the earth, so it's best if I'm _not_ on _this_ earth."

Ketch moved to Rachel, which sent Sam into automatic defense. "Back up," Sam growled, blocking her.

"Easy," Ketch urged, showing him Rachel's folded knife in his hand. "Just wanted to return it."

With a hard glare, Sam snatched the weapon. "It's not much better over there," he sneered as he passed it behind himself to Rachel. "You know it's a war zone, right?"

"Won't be my first," Ketch assured stiffly. "Shan't be my last, hmm?" He looked to Dean expectantly.

"Fine," Dean agreed with a small nod.

"Fine?!" Sam asked, baffled. He paused, face tightening. "So you want Ketch to go, but not me?"

"I don't care if he dies," Dean argued back, glancing over at Ketch. "Hell, I'm kinda rooting for it."

Sam shook his head. "Still, you can't—"

"No," Dean interrupted. "I have to. It takes something that's been over there before to open up the right door, and that's either you or me. So, I'm going to go. And you need to watch her," Dean said, looking to Rachel. "Because God knows what's coming, and she needs the best protection."

"No," Rachel argued, stepping around Sam toward Dean. " _You_ do. You can't go into an apocalypse world without him!"

"Rach, he's staying," Dean said gently. "Because if Asmodeus is sending his cronies here, the last place I want Sam is with me." He looked to Sam. "And if something happens to me, if time runs out, then I need you to come and save me. And save Mom, and save whoever else. Okay?"

Sam was furious. "It's safer if we go together."

"Oh, there's no such thing as safer over there, and you know that." Dean watched as Sam's jaw ticked, his brother barely able to hold back his anger. "Look, I know you don't like this. I don't expect you to. But this is the way it's going to be."

A few tense moments passed before Sam took up the mortar and pestle, grinding the blood, grace, and fruit together with a rigid look. Dean plucked a hair from the back of his head, showing it to Sam. "Something that's been there, right?" He dropped it into the bowl, rubbing his head as he, Sam, Rachel, and Ketch watched the ingredients light up.

"Alright," Sam sighed. "Remember, it's only twenty-four hours."

Rachel's pulse quickened with the reality of what Dean was about to do, hers and Sam's pain equally displayed on their faces. "Dean," she whispered, stepping toward him, taking his hand before Sam could read the spell. "Maybe—"

Dean rested a finger over her lips gently, minding the swollen corner. "This," he said, gesturing to her wound, "This right here is why he's staying. Because I care about you, kiddo. I know Sam will keep you safe, and that's what I need. Especially now."

Rachel swallowed, trying to speak against his finger. "Dean, it can't be killed—"

He softly tapped her mouth, giving her a look she knew meant that he didn't want Ketch to know her secret. "No, darling. He stays."

"Might I interrupt the moment to ask why Sam's Pet is critical to decision making?" Ketch asked, curiosity obviously peaked.

In turn, he received a dirty glare from Dean. "Because she's got more worth in her pinky finger than you'll ever have in however many lives you'll live," he snapped. "And that's about all you need to know." He turned back to Rachel. "Take care of Sammy for me, okay?" he whispered, discreetly dabbing her tears away with his thumb. "And don't let Wedgewood eat all my pie." Dean's hands rubbed her back as she hugged him, nodding into his chest. With a kiss to the top of her head, Dean let her go, watching as she backed toward Sam's side.

Sam wet his lips, drawing in a shaky breath as he held the Seal over the bowl, the light flowing purple. " _Coulth munto notox."_

A rip opened across from them in front of the telescope, the slice of a door electric and glowing. Dean checked his watch for the time, readying himself. Sam reluctantly checked his, committing it to memory as Dean took up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He paused by Sam's side, looking at his brother. He could feel the tension radiating off of him, the resistance to his plan nearly suffocating. Still, he had to give him credit for standing down, something not easy for Sam to do. Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a solid pat and grip. "Okay," he breathed, letting his brother go and heading for the rift.

Sam moved closer to Rachel's side, seeking her hand next to him as he watched. He latched on, his thumb running over her soft skin as they watched Dean turn back to them. Sam gave Dean a soft nod, one that spoke volumes over any words that could be said. It was a nod shared between brothers who had been in similar places, seen similar choices made and sacrifices taken, a pain that never healed, always familiar and inevitable.

Sam gripped Rachel tightly as he watched Dean leave first, Ketch following behind. She felt the currents of tension flowing through him, hoping her touch was at least somewhat of a lifeline for him as it was for her in that moment.

"He'll be okay," she managed to whisper, feeling Sam's fear course through him.

"Yeah, he will," Sam agreed quietly, drawing in a deep breath. He glanced down at her, his heart aching as he saw her marks. "So will you."

"I'm not worried about me," she insisted, glancing to Gabriel. "Let's focus on him."


	12. Chapter 12

**_S13 E18 "Bring 'em Back Alive" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

The two set to work on getting Gabriel set up in the spare room Rachel had used. Rachel gathered clean clothes from Sam's drawers while Sam encouraged Gabriel to use the shower. Still, all Gabriel did was sit curled on the spare room's bed, tucking his body to himself as if it would help him not be seen. Sam had tried to talk Gabriel into at least resting on the bed, but he refused, whimpering and fleeing from him like a frightened animal. In defeat, Rachel set the clothes on the corner chair, slipping out of the room with a heavy sigh.

"Rachel," Castiel said, scaring her with his sudden appearance in the hall, "what's going on?"

Rachel held up her hand, trying to calm her racing heart. "You _really_ need to work on that for me, Cas," she muttered, drawing in a breath as she headed to the kitchen.

"Sorry. Where are Sam and Dean?" he asked, brow wrinkled as he followed her.

"Sam's in the spare room, talking to Gabriel."

Castiel's blue eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

"I know," she sighed. "Long story." Rachel took down a plate and a cover, spooning some of her veggie casserole onto the plate. "Arthur Ketch brought him from Asmodeus to open the rift. Only, Gabriel is pretty … out of it."

"How so?"

Rachel turned, looking up at Castiel. "You'll see." Her eyes flicked to Sam, who entered the kitchen with a heavy sigh. She offered him the plate. "Not sure if he's hungry," she said to Sam, then paused. "Or if angels even eat. But just in case."

Sam smiled gently, holding up the vile of grace from Ketch. "I think this is more his speed, but we'll keep it just in case." He took the tray, looking Rachel over. "You need to sleep," he urged. "Go rest. We've got this."

Rachel knew he was right; she was beyond tired. "Just wake me if anything happens."

He nodded, drawing her close with his free hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be in a bit to check on you." Sam watched Rachel slip back down the hall ahead of him and Castiel, who looked over at him.

"So where is Dean? And when will you open the rift?" Castiel asked.

Sam swallowed, heading down the hall back to Gabriel, carrying the tray. "We already did. Ketch brought Gabriel from Asmodeus, along with some of his grace."

"Dean is in the apocalypse world alone?"

"He's with Ketch, so he's not alone."

"Because that makes it so much better," Castiel scoffed.

"Cas, he wanted to go solo," Sam sighed.

"And you let him?" Castiel asked incredulously.

"I—" Sam stopped walking, turning to face the aggravated angel. "He didn't give me much of a choice. Anyways, Dean's right: So long as he's over there, and we're over here, we need to be taking care of Gabriel. Getting him right again."

Sam drew in a breath, opening the spare room door and stepping in, Castiel behind him. The room was pitch black; Sam gestured to the wall for Castiel to turn on the light switch. "Gabriel?" Sam asked gently, his eyes settling on the archangel. Gabriel was curled up in a ball on the floor next to the dresser on the wall.

"You didn't tell me he was this bad," Castiel said to Sam.

Sam looked at Gabriel with empathy. "Yeah, well years of isolation and torture, and Asmodeus draining his grace …" He sighed. "Come here, help me out." With a careful step, Sam crossed to the bureau and rested the tray on top of it, moving around to Gabriel's left side. "Hey, Gabriel," he said gently, standing next to the angel. He started to bend toward him, but once he made contact with his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, the angel jumped, warning Sam with a swallowed cry. Sam quickly stood up, holding his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, okay," he assured. "We're just going to get you to the bed."

Both Sam and Castiel gently stooped down and took hold of Gabriel, who still protested against the move. Still, they were able to help the angel sit on the bed, watching as he curled back up, his knees to his chest.

Sam lowered down into a squat to look at Gabriel. "Gabriel, it's Sam Winchester. Do you remember me?"

There was a pause, which made Castiel glance over to Sam. "I don't think he does," he said.

Sam held back an eye roll, returning his focus to Gabriel. "Remember the video you sent to my brother, Dean Winchester, and me after you … supposedly died?" He gave a small smile. "You told us how to stuff Lucifer back in the cage."

"Sam," Castiel interrupted, "he doesn't—"

"I know he doesn't," Sam replied, straightening to stand. "I'm just … trying to see if anything's going on in his head." He drew in a breath, turning to the tray on the bureau. "Alright. Well …" He lifted the lid, withdrawing the small, glowing vile from it. "Gabriel's grace," he explained to Castiel, who studied it with a creased brow. "Ketch brought it. Maybe if he's juiced up, it'll help."

Unscrewing the cap, Sam offered the vile to Gabriel, showing him with a hopeful look. As he moved it a little closer, Gabriel whimpered and shied away from it, regardless of how gentle Sam's approach was.

After a couple moments, Castiel said, "Sam, I don't think he's going to open up and let the choo-choo in." Sam paused, brows arched high as he looked over at Castiel, questioning his choice of words. "A technique for feeding recalcitrant children." He took the vile from Sam as Sam straightened. "I think a little … coercion … may be necessary."

Castiel and Sam each took one of Gabriel's shoulders gently, Sam using his other hand to steady Gabriel's head as Castiel attempted to pour the grace into Gabriel's mouth. Immediately, the archangel resisted, squirming and kicking as he screamed. "Hey, hey!" Sam urged. "Whoa, whoa!" Gabriel fought his way further back onto the mattress with kicks and yells until Sam stopped Castiel, letting Gabriel flee to the dark corner next to a nightstand on the floor. Gabriel whimpered, flinging his arms over his head to cover it as he panted, Sam and Castiel watching with pained expressions before reluctantly leaving the room.

Sam shut the spare bedroom door, sighing as he rubbed his temples. "I'm going to check on Rachel," he said quietly, slipping down the hall toward his room as he attempted to quell the massive string of fears, questions, doubts, and worries of his mind.

He gently opened his bedroom door, seeing Rachel curled on her side on their bed. He wasn't entirely sure if she was sleeping, the room dark enough that he couldn't tell. He clicked it shut as quietly as he could, drawing in a deep breath. He wasn't planning on going to sleep until Dean was back. Still, he had to see her, had to hold her. She was all that was keeping him sane, all that drove him forward. Like a steadying hand, her presence grounded him.

Sam kicked off his boots, his focus on Rachel as he climbed into bed behind her, the mattress dipping with his weight. He snaked his arms around her and drew in a deep breath, shutting his eyes with relief as he took in her scent. She was peace, comfort. His hands were drawn to her skin like magnets, his long fingers running over her hip to her stomach, the warm flesh under her shirt teasing him. He lost himself in the simplicity of his love for her until his heart stopped, truth striking him with unforgiving clarity. Even within his peace, there was pain. His love was bound to a fate he didn't know if he could stop. His arms tightened around her, salty tears of fear and frustration silently running down his cheeks as he considered the unthinkable. No matter what it took, he wouldn't lose her. He couldn't, not after all he had already lost in his life.

Rachel stirred; Sam felt a pang of guilt for waking her. "Sammy," she whispered sleepily, sinking backward into his hold.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Sam whispered back, "I just needed to hold you."

"You should rest."

"Not until Dean is back."

Rachel wet her lips, feeling Sam's fingertips brush under her shirt across her skin. She couldn't help but think about the child in her womb, knowing Sam was likely too. They hadn't spoken of it since Cawker City, and it likely wasn't the best time to in that moment. Still, she couldn't help herself. "Sam," she started, feeling a chill run through her. He pressed her closer through her shiver. "Ketch said …"

Sam immediately stiffened as she failed to finish. He turned her to himself and looked into her eyes. "What?" he growled, a lion ready to strike. "What did he say to you?"

"He said Asmodeus would likely use me against you and Dean," she replied.

"I won't give him the chance," Sam assured.

Rachel nodded. "Still, I was thinking … maybe we can use my pregnancy to our advantage." She saw how Sam's face creased, knowing he was already not happy with her suggestion. "I mean, maybe we can bargain with him using the nephilim or something—-"

Sam laid his thumb over her lips with a shake of his head. "No," he interrupted, silencing her as she tried to object. "Absolutely not," he said, his tone blackened. "If you think I'd put you in Asmodeus' crosshairs, you're insane."

Rachel took his hand, moving it from her mouth. "Sam, I'm going to die anyway," she said with an impatient frustration. She sat up on the bed with a heavy sigh, Sam following suit. "At least let this all mean something. We can swap a battered archangel for a powerful nephilim. Once Asmodeus knows it's Arioch's child—"

"No!" Sam objected with a growl. "First of all, you're _not_ dying, alright?" He shook his head as he saw her doubt. "You're not. I swear to you, I'll find a way. And secondly, I'm not trading you for Gabriel."

"Do you have a better plan?" Rachel challenged. "He's going to come looking for him. Sure, this place is warded, but is it enough for someone like him?"

Sam's frustration was growing by the second. He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, but there's no way in hell I'm agreeing to throw you at the Prince of Hell."

"Sam—"

With strength he didn't realize he was using, Sam grabbed Rachel by the upper arms. His fingers were like vices around her small body, his strength undeniable as he forced her quiet through a rough shake of her body. "No, Rachel!" he shouted, his voice taking on a foreign darkness she had never seen before. He was wild, unpredictable, violent. "I said no, and that's enough, goddammit!"

Rachel felt impossibly tiny as Sam kept hold of her, his face still clenched as he sucked in breaths of air through his nose. She swallowed; his outburst was unexpected and terrifying. In that moment, she felt a genuine fear launch through her she hadn't experienced in a long time, nor one she expected to with Sam. The storm inside of him was frighteningly powerful. She knew from previous experience with angry lovers to shut up and let him release rather than to fight back. Still, despite it, she was unable to fully suppress her quiver, Sam far bigger and stronger than Alex and Chris ever were.

Her terrified body language struck Sam like a searing hot blade. "Rachel," he shuddered, his own mouth agape as he immediately let go of her. "Baby, I'm sorry." He ran his hand over his mouth in shock and shame. "Rachel, please," he begged, gently reaching to stroke her.

Wetting her lips, she sunk into herself a little, and ducked her head, as if submitting to him. A pit grew in him as he saw her flinch as his hand neared, her eyes squeezing shut as she braced herself for an expected strike. Sam's hand hovered in midair, his eyes watering as he watched. Bile raced up his throat, a cold flood of guilt flowing through his veins. "Baby," he whispered, not daring to touch her as she remained curled away from him, just like Gabriel.

Sam then realized that it wasn't the first time she had been where she was now. If it was, she would've had more strength, more resistance. The woman in front of him had long since equated love with potential violence, her desire to appease his anger apparent in her lack of self defense. "Baby girl," he whispered, lowering his hand. "Please look at me. Please." Slowly, Rachel flicked her eyes up to his, seeing the pain in them. "My God," he shuddered, a tear escaping. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she replied, her voice more than timid as she refocused on the blanket under her.

"No, it's not," Sam insisted, letting more tears come. "I would never …" He grit his teeth, jaw flexing as he swallowed back his nausea. With a tender touch, Sam used his finger to lift her chin, searching her glassy eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to …"

She took his hand, stroking it, avoiding his eyes as she tried to calm her rapid heart. "It's okay," she insisted.

"Rachel, it is _never_ okay for me to scare you like that," he corrected, pressing kisses to the back of her hand. "Not me, not anyone. It doesn't matter how afraid I am of losing you, I had no right to do what I did." He sighed as he pressed her to himself; he wrapped her in his arms, showering her with kisses on her hair, his tears dripping into it.

"I shouldn't have pressed it," she said against him.

"It doesn't matter," he insisted, drawing her closer still. "It's _not_ your fault. I never meant to make you afraid of me. I had no right to take my fear out on you." Sam drew in a shaky breath, unwilling to let her go. Rachel slowly curled into his embrace, listening to the rapid rhythm of his heart, letting his familiar warmth attempt to soothe her. Still, it didn't seem like quite enough. "Come here," he urged, pulling her to lay with him, one hand yanking the covers over them as she nestled against him, clinging to his plaid shirt. He wrapped her in his arms, tucking her legs between his as he tried to keep her as close as possible.

"But Gabriel—" she began.

"Shh," he insisted, nuzzling her and kissing her cheek. "This is what matters. Right here. This is where I need to be." He paused, swallowing hard. "Rachel, you're the world to me. You know that, don't you?" She nodded, but he still wasn't convinced. "Baby girl. You need to believe that."

"I just … I didn't mean to add it to everything else."

He sank his hand into her hair, gently stroking it at the roots. "I don't want you apologizing, you hear? You have absolutely no reason to do that. And I swear to you, you'll make it through this. I will find a way. No matter what it takes."

Her silence scared him. He felt the residual tension in her body, angry at himself for putting it there. "You should go see Gabriel," he heard her murmur against his chest.

Sam's jaw ticked. Rachel was pushing him away as gently as she could, but he was still being shut out, and he knew it. He had no one to blame but himself. How had he ever thought it would be good for her to be with him, to be in the middle of all this? He hadn't. He had been selfish, trying to have what he always wanted while doing what he needed to. It didn't work. It never would. And Rachel was living proof of that, her life put on a timer because he couldn't bear to let her go.

He reluctantly nodded, kissing her forehead before getting out of the bed and tucking her back in. "Rest," he urged, looking down at her as she stayed on her side. She busied herself with twisting the blankets between her fingers, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

Sam's chest tightened when she didn't reply, or even look at him. For every kind of wound, injury, or torture he had ever experienced, her fear, silence, and distance was the most terrifying pain he had ever felt—and it was all because of him.


	13. Chapter 13

**_S13 E18 "Bring 'em Back Alive" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Asmodeus rotated two glass marbles in his right hand, a pensive look on his face as he sat in his throne. Rage was at a steady simmer within, nearly ready to bubble over with one misstep of anyone who dared to tell him something he didn't want to hear. "This is unacceptable!" he growled, still spinning the marbles. "Ketch, who's wily, possible he could fly under the radar. But the archangel?" He huffed. "The archangel. I should at least detect a blip." He sneered, his lip curling. "We're connected. You might say we're blood brothers."

With a scowl, he narrowed his eyes at the lower level demon in front of him. "Get," he ordered, stopping the marbles in his hand as he watched the demon nervously bow and leave.

* * *

While Sam was in his room with Rachel, Castiel took it upon himself to check on Gabriel. He quietly opened the door and flicked on the lights, his eyes immediately widening as he looked at the walls. The once blank plaster was covered in Enochian script, surrounding the entire room. "Sam," Castiel called, as he examined the room.

Already in the hall, Sam rushed in, stopping with shock as he looked at the walls. He stepped in, brow creased as he took it in. "What is this? Did he do this?" He gestured to Gabriel, who was still crouched on the floor where they left him. "Enochian?"

"It's his story," Castiel replied as he read it. "It starts with his death. Or, what appeared to be his death." Castiel drew in a breath. "Per usual, my brother had double my brawn and half my brains.'" He stepped closer to the wall, continuing to read. "'He assumed the counterfeit me was what vanished that night and that he'd stabbed the real thing. The truth is, the thing Luci skewered was a fake. There are plenty of fakes to go around.

'Everyone believed that Gabriel was gone. And suddenly, I was free. No obligation to God or Heaven or mankind. So I did what anyone would do: I moved to Monte Carlo and shacked up with porn stars.'"

Sam's brows arched in surprise as he looked at Castiel. "Well … He goes on and on for quite a while about porn stars—"

"Uh, Cas, please," Sam interrupted, clearing his throat.

Castiel nodded, skipping over sections. "Okay," he began again, "so Gabriel was captured and delivered to Asmodeus. 'For years, I knew nothing but endless torture. Asmodeus, once the weakest of Hell's princes, grew strong by feeding on my grace.'"

Both turned to look down at Gabriel, who remained on the floor, exhaling sharply. "Well," Castiel said softly, "obviously his intellect is still intact."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So why isn't he talking to us?"

"I don't know. Maybe he can't."

"Or maybe he's choosing not to. Maybe he thinks it's safer that way."

Sam and Castiel moved Gabriel to the bed, Sam watching as Castiel rested his hands on Gabriel's head. A low buzzing ring sounded as Castiel focused his powers. "I must reiterate," he said, "it's not possible for an angel to heal an archangel. I'm just trying to jolt his mind into thinking straight." With a sigh, Castiel let go, the ringing stopping. "Even then, Sam … Gabriel … It's possible that he's lost."

Watching with a pained expression, Sam looked between Castiel and Gabriel, feeling his hope draining by the second. He nodded to Castiel as he left the room, seeing how Gabriel stared blankly ahead as he hugged his knees to his chest. Sam pulled over the corner chair closer to the bed, sitting on it with a heavy sigh. His head hurt, his heart aching for Gabriel and for what happened prior with Rachel. There was so much pain in the life he lived, so much fear and violence.

He sat there a while, waiting with as much patience as he could, hoping Gabriel would confide in him. Still, there was nothing but static silence, Gabriel not even shifting his gaze once. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it as he tried to decide whether to stay or go. It seemed pointless to stay, not wanting to give up on the archangel, but not wanting to waste his time either.

With a sigh, Sam stood, moving to the closed door before pausing, examining the knob. He turned back to Gabriel. "Gabriel, you have to dig yourself out of this hole," he said quietly.

Rachel heard Sam's voice as she went into the hall toward the kitchen for a drink, pausing as she listened. With quiet, sock-covered feet, she moved closer to the closed door, unable to help but want to hear what he was saying.

"Look," Sam said, "I know you think it's safer inside. No more torture. No more pain. No more expectations. I've been there."

His admission struck her. She knew only briefly of what Sam had endured as a hunter, his words shining a small light on a seemingly dark past she knew nothing about.

"You were nothing like your family," Sam continued. "You sure as hell weren't like your dad. Me either. And just like you, I got out. Or I thought I got out. But then, my family needed me. And this is my life. No matter how many times I try to fight it, this is what I was put here to do. This is where I make the world a better place."

Rachel's heart stopped as she listened, wetting her lips that were suddenly dry, her throat like cotton. What was he saying? Was their relationship fighting his purpose? _It's not about you,_ she tried to tell herself. Still, in that moment, she couldn't help but feel it. And she sure as hell felt it most days, even if it didn't come from him. She knew her being there wasn't fair to Sam, for him to have to worry about her along with everything else. How could it be? He was right—he had tried to fight his purpose to be with her, and look how far it got both of them. Her being there would get Sam nowhere, other than stressed and worried. She had been right to initially leave before when she went to Jody's. This wasn't something either of the brothers needed right now.

Rachel left the doorway before she could hear the rest, pacing down the hall a little out of earshot of him.

"And yeah, sure — hookers in Monte Carlo sounds great," Sam continued in the spare room, "but your family needs you. Jack, your nephew, needs you. The world needs you. _We_ need you." Sam paused, feeling his eyes tear. "Gabriel, _I_ need you. So please, help us."

Sam waited, Gabriel unmoved, unresponsive. With defeat, Sam nodded, gritting his teeth as he turned back for the door. "Porn stars," Gabriel corrected behind him, surprising Sam as he turned to him. "They were porn stars, Sam." With the smallest of smiles, Gabriel's eyes lit blue, reflecting how his grace strengthened.

* * *

Asmodeus had been busying himself with trying to find Gabriel, still in contempt of his demons below him and their utter failure. The moment Gabriel showed his grace to Sam, Asmodeus' hand stopped, the marbles no longer clacking together as he concentrated. A smile spread across his face. "There you are."

* * *

As she moved away from the spare room, a piercing pain struck Rachel between the eyes; she covered her gasp, not wanting Sam to know she was so close. She sank down against the wall, fighting the searing light in her mind's eye in struggled silence as she blinked hard through the oncoming vision. It tore through her, weakening her as she watched it play out:

It was a jarred picture, the whole unclear. Still, from what little she saw, she knew they were in the bunker. Several demons wielding blades, Sam and Castiel fighting them, red light everywhere. Another image flashed through of Sam and Castiel down on the ground, bathed in their own blood. She saw herself fighting to reach them, she and Gabriel held tight by two demons each as she screamed from near the front door of the bunker. The last image she saw was a candle-lit space, different than the bunker, and a man with salt and pepper hair in a white suit standing in front of her. He had a chilling laugh as he rested his hand over her stomach, she unable to move under his invisible restraint. "Welcome home, Rachel," he said with a grin.

With a trembled gasp, the vision stopped. Rachel sucked in a breath as she leaned against the wall, the throbbing in her head failing to dull as she straightened. She blinked rapidly, the hallway coming back into focus as she slowly started to back away from the door. Nerves riddled her body, her heart racing. With a deep breath, Rachel turned to leave, only to bump into Castiel. "Shit," she grumbled. The angel was bound to forever scare the crap out of her, no matter what.

"Sorry," he offered with a small shrug. "I was coming to see how Gabriel was doing." Castiel's brow wrinkled as he saw how she pale she looked. "Are you alright?"

Rachel nodded quickly. "Fine," she said softly, not making eye contact as she moved around him and down the hall away from him.

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he followed. "No, you're not," he argued. His lips parted, remembering how she looked in the motel room with her first vision. "It's the baby."

Rachel froze. "No," she tried to assure him with a laugh, meeting his eyes with hers. "It's fine. It's just hormones. I, um, just need to—"

Castiel caught her arm as she turned to leave. "Rachel, did you have another vision?"

"Let me go, Cas."

"You need to tell Sam," Castiel continued.

"I'm fine! Just let me go!"

"What did you see?"

As Rachel was about to protest, Sam opened the spare room door, hearing them. "What's going on?" he said, immediately seeing Castiel's grip on Rachel just a couple feet away. "Cas, let her go," he said firmly.

Castiel released her. "I don't believe Rachel is well," he explained, desperation in his eyes.

Rachel shook her head as Sam's worried eyes searched hers. "I'm fine," she insisted with a fake smile, her head spinning from Sam's words earlier to Gabriel and her vision. "I'm just going to go drink some water and I'll be fine."

"Tell me," Sam urged.

"Oh, Gabriel's up," Rachel said, a poor attempt at changing the subject as she spotted the angel watching on the bed from around Sam. "He's better now? That's great."

"Rachel—"

"Maybe he needs his grace now," she said, moving quickly past Sam before he could take hold of her, taking up the vile of grace from where it rested. "I, uh, like what you've done with the place," she joked softly, giving Gabriel a smile. He didn't move as he stared at her. "Take it," she encouraged, handing it to the archangel as Sam and Castiel came back into the room. "It might help." She swallowed and pushed her glasses up her nose as she waited through the uncomfortable silence, Gabriel studying her. "Sorry, I'll just leave it over here," she said softly, biting her lip as she began to withdraw her hand.

Gabriel took it gently before she could, examining her. "Wow," he said with genuine, appreciative surprise that Sam didn't miss. Neither did Rachel, who suddenly felt naked in her tank top and sweatpants. "Sorry. I, uh, don't recall meeting you before."

She laughed. "I was in here earlier, but I guess you don't remember."

Gabriel wet his lips. "Guess not. I'd _definitely_ remember you."

Rachel felt her cheeks head up. "Rachel," she said, sticking her hand out despite her clammy palm.

The archangel took it with a wide grin. "Gabriel. But, uh, I'm guessing you knew that." She nodded. He stared at her. "Holy crap, you're pretty."

She laughed nervously. "Uh, thanks."

His brow furrowed, and he paused, still clutching her hand. " _Holy_ _crap_ ," he repeated a moment later with sudden realization, eyes widening. "You're … You're … pregnant with …"

"Yep," she nodded, feeling awkward as Gabriel stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. She withdrew her hand and ducked her gaze away, moving to the nightstand and running her finger over it, avoiding his eyes.

"Whoa." Gabriel drew in a breath.

"Gabriel," Sam said, clearing his throat and nodding suggestively, trying not to look as territorial as he felt but likely failing, "your grace."

Gabriel nodded, still shocked. "Alright, here goes nothing." He uncapped the bottle and let the grace move toward him, drinking it in with satisfaction as a high-pitched hum filled the air.

"Is it working?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know, Gabriel admitted softly.

Sam's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and answered it, leaving it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello, Samuel," Asmodeus said on the other end. Gabriel immediately backed away, panic in his eyes at the sound of his voice. "It's come to my attention you boys have something that belongs to me, and I'd like it back."

Sam turned away a little, tightening his jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied evenly.

"Oh I believe you do. And I'mma give you once chance to return him to me, no harm no foul."

"I'm hanging up," Sam threatened, pulling the phone away from his mouth.

"Do not hang up on me," Asmodeus warned, his tone thickened with anger. "Gabriel is no use to you in his current condition."

Rachel glanced to Gabriel, who was watching Sam with a frightened look. Her heart sped up, realizing the tone of the man's voice on the phone matched her vision. It was Asmodeus she saw, in their bunker, ready to kill Sam and Castiel.

"Should you choose to refuse me, I will have no choice but to take him by force," Asmodeus continued. "I will reduce you and that sad, little bunker of yours to ashes. You've got ten minutes to decide. _Now_ you can hang up."

The call disconnected; Sam hung up, lowering the phone down as Castiel took Gabriel by the shoulder with a gentle, assuring grip. Sam looked to Rachel, who was pale as she stared down at the bed. "Rachel?" Sam asked, taking a step toward her.

"I saw it," she whispered. Rachel looked up at Sam, seeing Gabriel's questioning gaze out of the corner of her eye. "I saw him here. Asmodeus." She paused. "Well, I guess it was him. Salt and pepper hair, Colonel Sanders-knockoff accent, all white suit?"

"That's him," Gabriel grumbled.

"Another vision," Castiel sighed softly, nervously.

"Another?" Gabriel asked, perplexed. He looked to Rachel. "You're human, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"With visions?"

"They're from the baby," Castiel explained.

"The baby?!" Gabriel nearly shouted. "But … How …?"

"It's a special child."

Sam cleared his throat, refocusing on Rachel. He rested his hands gently on her upper arms, his heart stopping when she winced. "What did you see?" he asked, trying not to get upset at himself from her reaction. Still, he felt the guilty anger from before flow through him, wanting desperately to erase what happened between them. She had every right to still be scared.

"You and Cas fought the demons he sent here to get Gabriel," Rachel replied, focusing on his eyes. They looked pained, exhausted. She had made them that way. "You tried … but you didn't win." She swallowed against the admission. "Asmodeus took Gabriel and me back to some place with a lot of candles and cells."

Sam's nostrils flared as he studied her. "When were you planning on telling us this?" he asked with an air of irritation. "Is this what you were keeping from Cas?"

Rachel took a step back from Sam with a scoff, fear and anger mixing and stirring within from his tone. "I _just_ saw it," she snipped. "Sorry my timing wasn't better for you."

Realizing his tone, Sam backed off, shutting his eyes and looking away. "I'll go check the wardings," he grumbled, leaving the room with purposeful strides.

Castiel watched Sam leave, then turned to Rachel. "I'll go help him," he said quietly, giving her a small nod accompanied by a signaled look. She nodded back, unsure whether Castiel was trying to tell her he was also going to smite Sam, or talk to him.

"So," Gabriel said quietly, "your baby has powers."

"Yeah, I guess," she sighed, sitting next to him on the bed. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before smoothing the material of her sweatpants, focusing on her lap.

"You don't seem happy to be pregnant," he noted. "It's something a lot of people pray for, you know. We hear it all the time."

Rachel's face creased as she looked at Gabriel. "You know, what is it with you angels?" she asked incredulously, unable to bottle her anger any longer. "It's like … you think because you're so almighty or something, that we should automatically want this. Like I should fawn all over it like some kind of groupie."

"Sorry, what?" Gabriel asked, confused.

"Did you ever consider that it's gross?" Rachel continued, not bothering to listen to him. She was on a runaway train as she stood, hands on her hips as she eyed the clearly perplexed Gabriel. "But oh, people pray for it, so I guess I should automatically thank my lucky stars for something I didn't ask for, huh?"

"Well, do the crime, do the time, they say," Gabriel muttered with a shrug.

She scoffed. "What 'crime' did I commit? Wanting to live a relatively normal life?"

"I mean, it takes two to tango."

Rachel shook her head. "Unbelievable. Well, news flash, buddy—this isn't a dance I signed up for. And if so many people want this, then why don't you flap your wings and let them have it, and leave the ones who don't out of it, for fuck sake!"

Gabriel swallowed, looking her over. "Sorry," he murmured. "You do know they make medication for … that kind of thing … right?"

She shook her head. "You of all people should know what little good that would do."

"Actually, it's quite effective," Gabriel corrected, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, well, not on this one."

"Why not?"

Rachel groaned loudly, burying her face in her palms. "Why do I have to explain this to an angel?" she asked, her arms flopping to her sides, her head tilting back. "If we could kill a nephilim like that, we would've done it already. But you can't."

"Wait, I'm confused. Are we talking about Jack here, or ...?" Gabriel asked, completely bewildered.

Castiel came in as Rachel let out a loud exasperated, high-pitched growl of frustration. "Forget it," she said to Gabriel. "I can't right now. Even among angels, there's too much _stupid_ testosterone in the bunker, and not enough _logical_ estrogen."

"Rachel?" Castiel asked, concerned.

"Shush," she ordered, pointing her finger at him, Castiel's brow arching in surprise. "Both of you. I don't care if you're some angel general, and he's an archangel." She drew in a deep breath as she eyed them both. "Because you know what? If either of you decide to lecture me again about this shitshow called my current life, I'll clip your damn wings and stuff the feathers into pillows. Got it?" Both angels stared at her, dead silent as they watched her leave with a growl.

Gabriel looked to Castiel. "Wow. That was pretty hot."

Castiel eyed him. "She belongs to Sam."

"Yeah." Gabriel's brow arched. "You know, I've seen humans reject pregnancy before. I've just never seen one react to it with such…"

"Contempt," Castiel finished. "I know." He sighed. "And the child is quite special too."

"I'll say."

A few moments later, Sam crossed in front of the open doorway to the room, stopping. "Alright," he said, slightly out of breath, "I did what I could to help the bunker's warding, but who knows if it's enough." He paused, scanning the room. "Where's Rachel?"

"Not talking," Gabriel said, hands up.

"What?" Sam asked, perplexed. "Cas?"

"Not sure," Castiel said. "She said there was too much testosterone in the bunker, shushed us, threatened our wings, then left." He shifted his weight. "You know, she's rather intimidating for someone her size."

Sam nodded with agreement. "Yeah. I know all about that side." He patted Castiel on the back. "Stay here with him."

"Gladly," Castiel replied, watching Sam leave.


	14. Chapter 14

**_S13 E18 "Bring 'em Back Alive" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Sam saw his and Rachel's bedroom door open as he headed down the hall back the way he came. He slipped inside, seeing Rachel arming herself, loading her gun. "You okay?" he asked carefully, the tension between them like a thick fog.

"Fine," she replied, readying her gun with a slide.

"Can we … can we talk?"

Rachel turned to him. "I don't think this is the best time, Sam."

"If not now, then when?" he countered.

"Maybe when we're not about to be invaded by demons?"

Sam crossed to her. "I can't stop thinking that … You have every right to, but it's killing me to think that you're unsure of me. I never meant to … Rachel, I—"

"Sam," Castiel called from down the hall, seeming stressed.

Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. "You should go," Rachel murmured, his distress making her ache.

He squeezed his eyes shut and left, frustrated as he went back to the spare room. He looked to Gabriel, seeing how he massaged his temples, looking pained. "How's he?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied solemnly.

Gabriel lifted his head with focus, as if listening for something. Suddenly, the bunker alarm tripped, bathing the entire space in red light, the alarm resounding. Sam looked to Castiel, then saw Rachel approach. "Stay in here with him," he instructed, taking her arm and leading her into the spare room.

"No, I need to help you!" she argued. "Otherwise, what I saw—"

Sam gave her one of their two demon blades. "No." Sam moved her to the bed near Gabriel. "Stay here," he urged. "Lock the door. Use the blade on anyone who comes in. You should be okay, the rooms are warded. But just in case."

"Sam," Rachel said, catching his arm as he started to move to the door. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw his bloodied body in her mind's eye. "Please. This is exactly how it happens."

He stroked her cheek, his thumb running over her lips. "I'll be fine," he assured. Drawing her near, he pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead, sighing against her skin. Feeling Castiel's urgency behind him, Sam parted from her, his eyes scanning hers for a moment before he turned away, taking out the archangel blade Ketch had given them and following Castiel out of the room, shutting the door.

Rachel locked it with a shaky hand, clutching the demon blade tightly in her fist. She stared at the wood, her heart racing as the lights flashed around them. "I don't … I don't have enough grace," Gabriel said behind her with a swallow.

"It's okay," Rachel assured, centering herself as she drew in a deep breath. "I'm pretty good with a knife."

They remained silent as they watched the door, listening through the blaring alarm for footsteps or voices. "Sorry I flipped out on you," Rachel whispered, feeling the urge to confess.

"It's okay," Gabriel whispered back. "It was hot. You're kinda frightening. Take that as a compliment coming from an archangel."

Rachel smirked. "I will."

The two froze as they heard footsteps approach. "Showtime," Rachel muttered, her fingers adjusting over the blade as she waited.

"In here," a demon said, trying the knob. "Ow! Son of a bitch!"

"They've got it warded," another demon said, yelping in pain as he tried to open the door.

"Kick it."

"You kick it!"

A bang resounded on the wood, Rachel's pulse rising as she listened to the thuds. "Come on," the demon yelled. "You're just pissing us off now, Gabriel. If you open it up, I promise we won't make the torture as bad."

The hinges shook, the demons cursing with each blow. It was burning them to touch it. Rachel focused on the shaking entry, watching as it flew open easily with suddenness. She took the defense as the demons smiled. "Ooh, a bonus," the one on her left side, a short man with a shaved head and rich, brown skin, said, smirking as he stalked near her.

"Those Winchester boys are holding out," the demon on the right, a taller, thinner man with thick black hair and almond eyes, said.

Rachel kept her cool as the two demons approached, each dressed in black suits. "Come on, pretty girl," the shorter one taunted. "Let's see what you've got."

He lunged at Rachel, who blocked him, ducking his swing. Her foot connected with the demon's stomach, kicking him backward into the corner chair across from them. The demons were slightly weakened by the warding, it her only hope against their unnatural strength. Gabriel took hold of him, wrestling with him as the second demon swung a blade at Rachel, who ducked it and twisted over toward the sink against the wall away from him. As the second one approached, she blocked him, resisting his hand that tried to lower his blade into her. She kicked him in the chest, knocking him back enough that she was able to move, slamming the blade into the demon's heart. The demon groaned, lighting up as he died with convulsions.

The shorter demon managed a solid blow to Gabriel, knocking him to the floor. "Nice," he said with a laugh as he looked over at Rachel, who withdrew her blade from the other body. "I like a fighter."

"Bring it, douchebag," Rachel challenged.

The demon lunged on the offense, Rachel ducking away. Still, he snagged her arm and threw her to the ground, her back slamming against the concrete, the blade dropping from her hand. She groaned, pressing against the demon's arm as he tried to stab her. Her knee connected with his groin and he fell off of her. She turned over onto her stomach to escape but the demon snagged her ankle before she could, his blade slamming into the back of her calf. Rachel screamed, clawing against the floor as she fought to pull away from the demon, landing a successful heel kick into his jaw. The demon groaned, his grip loosened, and she snatched her blade and rose to shaky feet. Blood ran down her leg, staining her sweatpants and her sock as she backed away from the demon, who approached her with a sinister smile. She countered his offense attack with a switch flip move Sam had showed her, freeing her right arm to sink her blade into the demon's side.

She panted as she watched the demon groan, light bursting in the vessel as he died. Rachel withdrew her knife, tears flooding her eyes from the pain in her leg as the body dropped to the floor. She looked to Gabriel, who was still down on the ground, but slowly rousing.

Rachel turned, seeing a tall flash of white approach in the doorway. "Well, well, well," Asmodeus smiled, entering the room with confidence. "Him, I was expecting. But not you." Asmodeus froze Gabriel with an invisible grip, stepping over the demon body in front of him as he moved to Rachel. "What's your name, darling?"

"Bite me," Rachel growled, feeling lightheaded as blood rushed from her deep leg wound.

"A bit of a temper," Asmodeus chided with a cluck of his tongue. "Wily little thing." He snapped his fingers, Rachel instantly frozen. She gasped, unable to move her arms as Asmodeus snatched the blade from her, setting it behind her on the bureau. "The Winchester boys didn't mention they had another roommate." The prince looked down at her, Rachel wincing as he stroked her cheek. "I can see why. You'd be hard to let go of." As she was about to scream, he silenced her with his unseen power. "Now, now," he said, his fingers still moving over her, "shhh. Save your screams for an audience, darling."

Rachel's stomach dropped through Asmodeus' surprised pause. The prince's fingers froze over her skin. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, a wide smile spreading across his face. His brow arched as his fingers dragged down her cheek to her chin, making a path over her chest with a purposeful trip across her cleavage to her stomach. "Now what do we have here?" he asked softly, his hand stopping. Rachel's lip quivered, tears filling her eyes as she was unable to escape him. "Oh this is quite delightful," Asmodeus said, his fingers tracing over her stomach. "Yes, I can work with this."

Four more demons entered the room, two snagging the stilled Gabriel from the bed as he whimpered and cried out. Asmodeus held his hand up as the other two approached. "I'll escort her myself, gentlemen," he said, taking her arm. She was barely able to walk under his hold, let alone with her injured leg. Her voice was still gone, nothing coming out as she tried to scream to warn Sam and Castiel. "Oh, now. Don't strain yourself, darling. They won't be able to hear you anyway. Not until I want them to."

* * *

Sam and Castiel panted heavily in the maps room, Castiel just finishing off the demon who nearly took out Sam. "Thanks," Sam managed, looking around at the bodies they had dropped. No others seemed to be coming, which was a relief. Still, Sam couldn't help but feel as if the worst was yet to come.

The two caught a glimpse of white, their focuses immediately shifting to see Asmodeus standing in the entry, holding on to Rachel. Sam's eyes widened at the blood that painted her leg, seeing the way she favored it.

Before he could even speak, Asmodeus flicked his wrist and sent both him and Castiel flying backwards into a utility panel. Both men groaned as their bodies slammed unforgivingly into it, knocking their heads on the cold steel. "Your warding wasn't designed for the likes of me, Samuel," Asmodeus noted, pulling Rachel down the stairs with him.

Sam sat up, barely able to move under Asmodeus' power. His focus went to Rachel, who was kept tightly to Asmodeus' side. "Let her go," he warned.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Asmodeus replied. "I've come to claim what's mine."

"They're not yours," Sam snarled.

"Oh, but Gabriel was, and she is now." Asmodeus snapped his fingers, causing Rachel to freeze by his size, and for Sam and Castiel to lose their voices. Asmodeus paced a little closer to Sam. "Seeing as I had to make a special trip all the way here to get back my feathered friend, I consider your pretty girl compensation for that." The prince winked at him. "And there's a nice bit of interest I'm collecting too. Don't you worry, I'll take real good care of her and the baby for you."

Sam's nostrils flared as he tried to fight Asmodeus' hold, straining under the intense power. He locked eyes with Rachel, whose lips parted as she looked down at Sam. Pain coursed through her, but none as deep of an ache as seeing his desperate fight to get to her.

Two more demons dragged out Gabriel from the opposite entrance, the angel fighting their grip with fevered whimpers. The demons steadied him, waiting as Asmodeus approached. "Oh, I missed you, boy," he said to Gabriel, who avoided his eyes. "I'mma have to punish you rather severely, I'm afraid."

Gabriel shouted as the demons took him toward the stairs. Sam pushed against the unseen hold on him as two more took hold of Rachel and dragged her on the same path. Asmodeus released Rachel's voice, her screams of protest hoarse as she was taken further from Sam.

Asmodeus turned back to Sam and Castiel. "And as for you two …" He snapped his fingers, both men groaning as severe pain struck them.

Sam fought the piercing ache to try to see where Rachel was, his body compressing under the onslaught of Asmodeus' power. "Sam!" Rachel screamed from the balcony, wriggling in the demons' hold as she watched.

The pain only got worse as the prince watched with a smile, each of them feeling their insides nearly being ripped out as they lay helpless against the panel. Try as they might, they were quickly losing, their faces strained as they tried to hold on.

Gabriel's eyes flashed blue from where he stood on the upper level, concentrating his growing grace. He growled and flung the two demons off of himself, throwing them over the edge of the railing and onto the hard ground below. He flicked his wrists and freed Rachel, the demons holding her tumbling down the stairs. Rachel clung to the railing, eyes wide as she watched.

Asmodeus turned to him, giving Sam and Castiel a bit of a reprieve. "Gabriel, what are you doing, son? You know too well what I can do to you." He stepped closer, inadvertently putting distance between him and Sam and Castiel. "I broke you." He watched as Gabriel focused on him. "You're too weak," he said with a sneer.

Gabriel smiled a little as his power flowed through his body, healing him. The wounds that littered his face and body disappeared, his grin growing as he took in Asmodeus' surprised expression. With confidence, Gabriel straightened, his massive wings becoming visible behind him as everyone watched.

Pissed off, Asmodeus focused a ball of power and blasted it toward Gabriel, who easily deflected it. "Not anymore," Gabriel smirked, seeing the panic in Asmodeus' eyes. "Oh, and by the way, I always hated that dumbass suit."

With an outstretched hand, Gabriel took control, watching as Asmodeus froze. Smoke rose from the prince's body, a sizzling sound filling the air as the demon heated from within. Asmodeus burst into molten hot flames, groaning and wailing as Sam as Castiel shielded their eyes from the scorching fire.

Asmodeus burst into a cloud of smoke and ash, disappearing as Gabriel grinned. Sam and Castiel were freed from the demon's grip. Sam bolted to his feet, looking up at Rachel, who clung onto the rails, her body weak as she tried to stay upright. "Rachel!"

Before she could fall, Gabriel caught her, smiling as she held onto him for balance. "It's alright," he assured. "I've got you." He pressed his fingers to her forehead, watching as her body healed. She straightened, lips parting in relief, not realizing she was still clinging to him. "Listen, uh, if things don't work out with Sasquatch, give me a call."

Rachel smiled softly with laugh, moving away from Gabriel. "Thank you."

Gabriel nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way down the stairs. Sam was waiting at the bottom, his arms surrounding her as soon as her feet hit the floor. "You okay?" he asked, pressing her to himself, lifting her in his embrace as he moved away from the bodies. She nodded, her hands tight around his shirt as she pressed her cheek to his chest. "Are you sure? The baby ...?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, fighting back a sudden swing of nausea. "We're fine."

Sam's hand ran over her hair, smoothing it tenderly as he held her. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I've got plenty." He sighed, drawing her even closer. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Your girl is pretty awesome," Gabriel said as he passed them. "Took out two demons single-handedly, even with an injury."

Sam kept Rachel close, smiling as his chin rested on the top of her head. "She's the best there is," he murmured.

Castiel sighed, looking at the bodies. "Gabriel, give me a hand?" he asked.

Gabriel nodded. The two angels quickly removed the bodies from the bunker, cleaning the blood they left behind with their power as Sam moved to the alarm panel with Rachel and reset the code. Rachel sighed as the blaring finally stopped, and the lights were restored to normal. She walked through the maps room, slowly fixing things that got knocked over in the struggle. Her stomach felt sick, but she ignored it, continuing to clean. As she stooped to pick up some papers, she paused, her head light. Shutting her eyes, she balanced herself with a nearby chair as she squatted.

Sam bent down to his knees, taking hold of her. "Easy," he murmured, feeling her head. She was warm. "You okay? Talk to me."

"I feel sick," she admitted, woozy and a bit worried.

"Cas? Gabriel?" Sam called before turning back to Rachel. He saw the signs of her blood loss in her paled skin, cool hands, and lethargic state. "Come on, baby girl." Sam lifted her under her thighs and across her back, standing as he pressed her close.

Both angels came over, Castiel laying a hand on her forehead. "She's burning up," Castiel murmured, brows wrinkled as he saw her lethargic state.

"I don't get it," Gabriel said. "I healed her. She should be fine."

"Can you heal her again?" Sam asked desperately, seeing Rachel's eyes blink hard as she slumped in his arms.

Castiel kept his power focused, shaking his head. "I can't. Gabriel?"

Gabriel took over, concentrating his energy toward Rachel. "She's not responding to it," Gabriel panicked. He looked up at Sam. "It's like the baby is fighting me."

Sam scoffed. "The baby is the size of a raspberry," he said.

"Yeah, and it also has visions," Gabriel added with a narrowed look. "Look, I know what I'm feeling here. The baby is fighting me."

"Perhaps it is trying to defend its mother," Castiel suggested.

"Yeah right," Sam grumbled. He drew in a deep breath, shifting his focus to Rachel. "Let's get you in bed."

Sam carried Rachel down the hall, opening their room door and laying her gently on their bed. "Sam," Rachel managed, her voice hoarse.

"Shh, hang on," Sam murmured, taking off her stained sweatpants and socks, tossing them aside. He fished around in the drawers, snagging a pair of cotton shorts and sliding them on her before covering her with blankets. "I'll be right back," he said, quickly leaving for the kitchen. Once there, he took down two glasses, one he filled with a putrid colored liquid from a bottle in the fridge, and the other with ice and water, bringing them and a dose of Tylenol back to their room. He rested the water and pills down, then knelt down next to her, holding the colored liquid glass to her mouth. "Drink," he said gently, supporting her head as she sipped it. Her nose wrinkled, and she shook her head as he encouraged her to finish it. "I know, baby. It's wheatgrass, kelp, spinach, and beets. It's nasty, but it works for anemia, trust me."

"I'd rather die, thanks," she grumbled.

Sam wasn't taking no for an answer. "Bottom's up."

Rachel groaned as Sam made her finish the glass, shivering when she was done. "Good girl," he murmured, helping her take the two Tylenol. When she was finished, he set the water down on the nightstand, feeling her forehead. It was dotted with perspiration. He left again, this time bringing back a cool washcloth from the bathroom and laying it over her head.

"Sam," Rachel whispered. "I don't feel good."

"You're likely overworked from the fight with your blood loss."

"Why couldn't they heal me?" she whispered.

"Gabriel thinks the baby is stopping him." Sam sighed, biting back his anger at the fetus. "I need you to rest, okay?" She nodded, her eyes shutting. "I'm going to go bring Gabriel up to speed, but I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sam stroked Rachel as she settled in, adjusting the cloth on her forehead as her eyes closed. He left the room, worried as he strode to the end of the hall. Now that Gabriel was back at full power, he needed to secure his position in Team Free Will to ensure they had the capability of beating Michael.


	15. Chapter 15

**_S13 E18 "Bring 'em Back Alive" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

"Whoa," Gabriel said as Sam entered the maps room, sitting next to Castiel on the edge of the table. "Too much information." Gabriel held his hand up. "Okay, slow down. I'm not processing."

"And there's more," Castiel continued. "Michael wants to come to this Earth and destroy it, and we may need your help to fight him."

Gabriel's eyes widened as he focused on the two men. "What?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Sam said with a small laugh and an awkward smile. "Welcome to the team."

"Uh, yeah," Gabriel replied slowly, "not so much." He stood. "I mean, thank you for the rescue and for the redemption arc, but, uh, I'm not really a team guy. So, I'm gonna bounce, okay?"

Sam and Castiel were clearly shocked, each pained as they looked at Gabriel. "Um, but you know, it's been, um … what's the opposite of fun? … that."

As Gabriel started to walk away toward the exit, Sam and Castiel stood. "No," Sam argued, brows creased, "you don't … you can't just walk away. If Michael comes here, he will end this world."

"And the last time the world was ending, I put my money on you. I think you can pull it off again."

Sam's heart raced, knowing what losing Gabriel meant to much more than just their war with Michael. They had used all of Gabriel's grace to restore him. There would be no way to re-enter the alternate world if needed.

"No," Castiel growled, stopping Gabriel. "You cannot turn your back on your father's creation."

Gabriel turned to him. "Castiel, my father turned _his_ back on his creation." He paused. "Guess it just runs in the family."

"No, Gabriel, please," Sam begged. In the flap of a wing, Gabriel was gone. Defeated, Sam turned, running a hand through his hair. The entire day had been absolute shit. His only hope now was that Dean would bring back Mary and Jack soon.

With a heavy sigh, Sam and Castiel made their way into the library, just as Dean fell through the rift opening onto the floor. "Dean! Hey, hey!" Sam said, rushing to him. "You're hurt!"

"No, no. I'm fine, I'm fine," Dean insisted, standing with a heavy sigh.

"The rift," Sam said, watching the glowing strip flicker. "It's ..." He panted, reaching out to steady Dean. "Where's Mom? Where's Jack?"

"Long story," Dean murmured, turning to his brother. "So Mom and the kid … they're not with Michael anymore. Ketch and Charlie are staying back to try to find them. There's a Charlie over there. She kicks ass."

"Charlie … Bradbury?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. He looked at the maps room, noticing the items Rachel hadn't yet picked up. "What'd I miss?"

"There was a demon incursion, led by Asmodeus," Castiel explained as Dean looked at the residual mess in the other room.

"Sorry, Asmodeus got in here?" Dean asked, brows arched.

"Yeah, and … and Gabriel killed him," Sam offered, hoping to at least highlight the positives.

"Gabriel. That's great. So he's back." Dean looked around. "Where's Rach?"

"Rachel is ill," Castiel said, seeing Dean's immediate worried reaction.

"What's wrong with her?" Dean asked.

"I think anemia," Sam said quietly. "She lost a lot of blood during the fight."

"Did you give her the—"

"Wheatgrass. Yeah," Sam finished. "If she's not better soon, I'll take her to the doc."

"Cas, can't you just zap her better?" Dean asked.

"Gabriel and I both tried," Castiel admitted, "but it's as if the baby is fighting against our power."

Dean gritted his teeth, seeing his stressed mirrored in Sam's expression. "The baby? Is fighting an angel … and winning?"

Castiel shook his head. "It's unlike anything I've experienced."

Dean drew in a breath. "Where is Gabriel? With her?"

Sam and Castiel both fell silent, their obvious hesitance worrying Dean. "He … left," Sam concluded.

Dean's eyes widened. "What do you mean, he left?"

"We asked Gabriel to help us," Castiel explained, "and he said no."

"He doesn't get to say no!" Dean argued. "We still have his grace though, right?" He looked between the two, their silence killing him. "Sam?" he demanded.

Sam swallowed. "We … uh … We used his grace to heal him," he replied meekly. "So, it's gone … it's all gone."

"So if it's gone, then that means we can't open that door again," Dean finished, his voice rising. "If we can't open that door again, then I should've never come back!" Temper more than flared, he looked down at the library table, his breath quickened. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, tossing objects to the floor in a mad sweep of his arm. Sam looked down, the pain of their day coursing through him. "Every time!" Dean snarled in a tone rarely heard. He turned away from them, running his fingers through his hair. "Every time we get close, it always falls apart. Every friggin' time!" He threw his arms down angrily, gritting his teeth together.

"Dean," Castiel said behind him, "we will find Gabriel. We will."

Dean stared blankly ahead. "We'd better," he growled.

He and Castiel were lost in thought, Sam the only one to hear Rachel's featherlight footsteps approach. He turned, eyes wide when he saw her pale, weak expression. "Sam," Rachel whispered, her eyes heavy. He saw her press her hand against the wall for balance.

Rushing to her, Sam caught her just as she collapsed into his arms. Her forehead was slick with perspiration, her skin nearly on fire, blood trickling down her inner thigh. "Rachel? Can you hear me?" Sam panicked, seeing she was unresponsive outside of a small moan. "Dean! Cas!"

Dean turned, seeing Sam holding Rachel. "Jesus!" Dean shouted, rushing to her side. "Cas, heal her and get her to the hospital now!" he instructed, boots pounding on the concrete as he rushed to get his car keys.

Castiel laid his hand over her head, frustrated as he tried to use his powers. "The baby is resisting me," he growled.

Sam shouted, "Cas, get her to the hospital. We'll be there." He kissed Rachel's forehead, letting Castiel take Rachel's limp body into his arms. The angel flapped his wings, disappearing with her.

"He's got her?" Dean asked, rushing back out, Sam right beside him as they climbed the bunker stairs.

"Yeah," Sam managed, his eyes glassy as he bit the inside of his cheek. Why was the nephilim resisting help for its host? Would they be able to treat her, or would the evil inside of her prevent it?

* * *

Dean drove like a madman, speeding down the highway as Sam sat silently next to him. "Cas said they've got her in emergency," he noted, glancing down at his phone.

"Any word on her condition?"

"No," Sam said bitterly. "They won't let him in. Only the father of the child."

"Yeah, well, that's you now," Dean muttered.

"Son of a bitch!" Sam shouted. "I swear to God, if I get the chance, I'll bring that fucker back just to torture him."

Dean couldn't help but empathize with his brother in that moment. "I mean, what the hell?" he grumbled. "A fucking archangel can't heal her now? The baby is a nephilim. Gabriel's one step below God. How does a halfie manage to beat him, especially when it's not even born?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, but I just hope there's a way to abort that little bastard." He scoffed. "Though it apparently won't go down without a fight. If we try to kill it, it'll likely take Rachel with him." Covering his eyes, Sam ran his hands over his face. "Fuck!" he shouted, slamming a balled fist down onto his thigh. "Son of a fucking bitch!"

"Let's take it one thing at a time, okay?" Dean suggested, trying to ease Sam's mind. "Maybe there's a way to stop the bleeding. Buy us time."

"Maybe," Sam managed, his eyes fixed out his window.

* * *

Sam was like a bull in a china shop when he entered the hospital, barely waiting for Dean to stop the car before he jumped out and left him in the parking lot. "Where is she?" Sam asked no one in particular, striding toward the double doors he knew emergency patients were behind.

"Sir, you can't go in there," a receptionist argued, eyes wide when Sam stopped and moved to the counter.

"Rachel Lentz," Sam barked, his palms flat on the counter as he leaned in. "Where is she?"

"Sir, you need to calm down," another nurse behind the counter instructed, stepping forward.

"Rachel Lentz," Sam repeated, nostrils flared, nearly panting. "Five foot one, long brown hair, glasses, bleeding, pregnant. Where is she?!"

"Step back," a security guard ordered, moving toward Sam, who laughed.

"Yeah, not happening until someone tells me where she is."

"I said, _step back_ ," the guard repeated.

"And _I_ said, tell me where she is," Sam replied, looking down at the guard.

"When you calm down, we will tell you."

"Not good enough." Sam barreled past the guard, knocking into him and setting him off balance.

"You can't go in there!" the guard yelled, regaining his footing.

"The hell I can't."

Still, two more guards restrained him, attempting to hold Sam back as he snarled and fought them like a wild animal. "I need to see her!" he demanded.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, finally catching up to Sam. He pulled Sam back, the guards releasing him. "Easy, Sammy. _Easy_."

"I need to see her, Dean!" Sam argued.

"Alright, calm down," Dean ordered, pulling Sam and stilling him. "Now, take a breath." He glanced over at the nurses station, giving a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry, can you tell us what the status is on Rachel Lentz? She was brought in by our cousin. Funny looking dude in a really ugly trench coat?"

The younger nurse nodded. "I remember him. He was … weird. Anyway, she went into emergency C-12."

"Thank you," Dean nodded, bracing as he held Sam back. "Hey, can, uh, Sasquatch get in?"

"Hell no," the guard spat. "He's psychotic."

"Look," Dean said, looking at the guard. "It's his girlfriend. He's the child's father. He's worried sick. Please. He won't be any more trouble, will you, Sammy?" Dean squeezed his hand around Sam's arm suggestively, inflicting a bit of pain.

"No, no trouble," Sam replied stiffly.

The guard eyed him. "You stay with him," he said to Dean.

The lead nurse objected. "Ralph, we can't let two in—"

"Shelly, that big one's not going in alone." The guard eyed Sam. "You give us _any_ kind of trouble, boy, and you're arrested. You hear?"

"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled, tensing against Dean. He let himself be led by his brother through the double doors, sighing heavily when they were alone.

"Shit, Sam," Dean growled, letting him go. "Keep your head on straight. You're lucky I'm a charming bastard. Otherwise, your ass would've been in a holding cell."

Sam focused on the numbers hanging above the room partitions, his heart stopping when he spotted C-12. He moved toward the entrance, his lips parting as he saw Rachel laying in a bed, tubes attached to her through an IV, oxygen lines in her nose. She was nearly as pale as the sheets she laid on, her chest barely moving as she breathed. His eyes welled with tears as he stepped closer, his lip quivering. "Baby girl," he shuddered, moving to her side. He stroked her cheek, moving her hair from her face. "Dammit."

"Who are you?"

Sam turned, seeing a nurse holding a clipboard. Shock had overtaken him, this now the second time he had stood over her in a hospital bed because of what Arioch did to her. His mouth was open as he looked at the nurse, but nothing came out. "I'm her boyfriend," he finally managed.

"If you're not the child's father, then you need to leave," the nurse said, eyeing him with a scowl.

"I am," Sam said, desperation in his voice. He cleared his throat, trying to swallow back the disgust he had for the fetus. "Please. Is she … How is she?"

The nurse sighed, her face softening. "Not all that good, honey," she admitted. "But, it looks like this little lady is a fighter. We took an ultrasound not too long ago. The doctor should have the results soon." She stepped closer. "Can you tell me if your girlfriend's been extremely active in the last forty-eight hours?"

"She, uh, did a couple … exercise classes."

"Exercise classes?" the nurse eyed him. "Honey, what was this little thing doing? I thought she ran a marathon, judging by her work up." Sam shook his head. "And her blood loss?"

Sam swallowed. "She cut herself. Cooking."

"Where?" The nurses brow raised. "She doesn't have any scars."

"She, uh, heals fast."

With a raised brow, the nurse lowered her clipboard. "Boy, I don't know what you're not telling me, but you're a terrible liar. And whatever you're holding back might hurt us being able to help her."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not, ma'am, I swear."

The nurse eyed him. "Mmm-hmm. Well, if something suddenly decides to pop up in your memory, you'd be wise to tell us."

"Yes, ma'am." Sam looked at the monitors, watching them blip. The two on the left seemed a little slower, less sure than the last one. "Nurse, why are there three monitors?" he asked.

She smiled softly. "Well, the first two are for her, and the last one's for the little one."

"Oh." Sam wet his lips. "Is it … Is it okay?"

"The baby's heart rate is perfect. Little one's doing great."

"Great," Sam said with a smile that he hoped didn't look as forced as it felt.

"The doctor will be in as soon as the results are ready," the nurse assured.

"Thanks." Sam watched her leave, the pit growing in his stomach. Of course the fetus would be okay. Here Rachel was, hanging by a thread, and the spawn of evil was thriving. Wetting his lips, Sam pulled up the chair next to the bed, sitting down and taking hold of Rachel's hand, minding the tubes attached. "Shit," he muttered, his eyes watering. "Second time I've put you in the hospital, baby girl." A couple tears escaped, and he sniffed them back, swiping them away with his free hand. "I'm such an idiot. Thought I could have you and keep you safe. And look what I've done to you."

Sam brought Rachel's hand to his mouth, the contact of her skin nourishing and calming him. He breathed deep, staring through her as he focused on the big picture. The lure as it was known on nephilims was very clear: The baby survives, the mother does not. And for every text the Men of Letters had, not a single one suggested differently. Sam hadn't told Rachel about all the long, fruitless nights he spent researching as she slept. And he vowed he wouldn't, until he found something positive to tell her. He knew she witnessed his nightmares, the hopelessness of what he read fueling them. Still, he refused to tell her of their source. It wasn't a guilt he ever wanted her to shoulder.

It was in that moment that Sam realized a decision had to be made, and he had two very grim options. In order to keep Rachel safe, the first option was guaranteed. The second, not so much, but it wasn't nearly as dangerous as the first—at least, not for him. Despite the personal risk, he liked the idea of a guarantee. He knew Option One would be effective, but was also messy, whereas Option Two left room for error, though it was less sinister. He went back and forth between them, more convinced now than ever that one had to be chosen. If Gabriel, an archangel, couldn't save Rachel, there was only one other force that possibly could. Still, how could he decide something like this? Not only was he going to choose her fate for her, but he was going to do it without her knowledge? Sam sighed heavily. There didn't seem to be a right answer. If he let nature take its course, she would certainly die, and that wasn't an option for him. All he had left was to decide whether or not he was willing to take the burden of a guarantee.

He watched her breathe, her small body seemingly smaller as she was swallowed by a blue patterned hospital nightgown. With a deep breath, he resolved himself to his choice. It didn't matter if he was happy, or if he had to shoulder the weight. All that mattered was her, and her life. And if his choice could be guaranteed, then so be it.

Sam stood, bending down to kiss Rachel's forehead. "I love you," he whispered, a small smile spreading across his face. He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling his tears fall down his cheeks as he looked at her. "I'll be back in a little bit, baby girl. I've got to go make things right." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Everything's going to be fine."

Sam wiped his tears as he exited the room, Dean standing and looking him over. "How is she?" he asked.

"Weak," Sam admitted, "but fighting."

Dean nodded. "Wouldn't expect less from her."

"Yeah." Sam was painfully tense from his choice. "I, uh, need some air. Can you stay with her for a little?"

"Sure, Sammy," Dean said, stepping closer, searching his brother's eyes. "You gonna be okay?"

Sam gave him a soft, pained smile before he left. "Yeah. Everything's going to be fine."


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay, people! Big stuff revealed below, but big secrets still are being kept!**

 **I need your feedback!**

 **Let me know if I should keep going. Leave me feedback with yes or no, theories, questions — anything! I'm getting views and reads, but radio silence here. Help a girl out. :) xo**

* * *

It was over three hours later when Sam returned, Dean more than worried when he finally saw his brother. He stopped him before he could enter the room. "Where the hell were you?" he demanded. "I called you like six times." Dean paused, giving a sniff. "Shit, Sammy. Are you drunk?"

"No," Sam replied, though he was a bit buzzed from the shots he did before he got back to the hospital. "Just needed to clear my head."

"Yeah, well, you'll clear a room smelling like that," Dean muttered. "Go get some gum or something."

"Is she up?" Sam asked, trying to see into the room.

"Uh-uh. You're not going in until you at least try to make it look like you weren't out drinking. Guilt is the last thing she needs." Dean waved him off toward the vending machine. "Go. I need to take a leak and get some java. Looks like I'll get you some too."

With a sigh, Sam shuffled down to the machine as Dean headed to the bathroom, buying a pack of gum and sticking two pieces in his mouth. Chewing them vigorously, he shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath as he approached her room. With a crane of his neck, he pocketed the remaining gum and spit out the wad in his mouth just before entering Rachel's room, hoping his breath was at least a little better.

He smiled softly when her eyes met his. "Hey," she said weakly. "Thought you ditched me."

"Never, baby girl," he replied, moving into place by her right side and leaning down to kiss her, taking her hand into his.

When they parted she sighed. "Jägermeister?" she asked.

"Should I worry you knew that from just my breath?"

She sighed, brushing his hair away from his eyes. "Sammy. I'm fine. You don't have to do the whole Sad-Drunk-Puppy-At-The-Bar thing. I'm going to be moved soon."

"Moved?"

"To the second floor. You know, where the people who are going to be fine go," she teased. "Doc said it was some kind of hematoma. Apparently I lost a lot of blood, so they weren't sure if I'd need a transfusion. But it's all rapidly improving, just within the last couple hours. He said he's never seen anything like it."

 _I bet he hasn't._ "That's amazing," Sam murmured, giving her a small smile, his thumb stroking over her hand. He leaned in and kissed her again, laughing as they parted. "Sorry. I'll chew more gum."

"Please. I don't need Wedgewood getting drunk off you."

Sam popped a piece of gum in his mouth, trying not to stiffen at the mention of the fetus. "So, a hematoma?"

"A subchorionic hematoma," a male voice corrected. Sam looked up as the doctor entered, his hand tightening around Rachel's. "Mister Winchester, I presume?" the doctor asked. Sam nodded. "I'm Doctor Leesburg. Rachel said I should look for the shaggy-haired, brooding giant." Sam raised a brow at Rachel, who shrugged. "As she probably already told you, both she and the baby will be just fine."

"Doc, how'd she get the hematoma?"

"The hematoma Rachel had is where blood collects between the uterine wall and the chorionic membrane, which is near the amniotic sac. See, the hematoma leads to placental detachment from the chorion membrane, causing subchorionic bleeding. But the baby is already reattached, so now that we've stopped the bleeding, Rachel's already beginning to feel more like herself."

"That's great," Sam breathed, more than relieved. "What, uh, brought it on?"

"Excessive activity is usually the culprit. Whether she'd like to admit it or not, your girlfriend is going to have to give the reins over for a bit. Pregnancy is a fickle thing at times. The first trimester is critical, so she needs to be especially careful with how much she takes on." The doctor drew in a deep breath. "So, we are going to get her hydrated and out of the anemic woods, then send her home for some rest. It won't be strict bed rest, but she will need to stop those exercise classes."

"Yeah, she won't be doing those any time soon," Sam agreed, giving Rachel a subtle, knowing look. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Certainly." The doctor paused. "Um, there's a gentleman outside in a trench coat by the name of Taylor Fast, saying he's your cousin?"

Sam suppressed his chuckle. "Yeah, he's good."

Doctor Leesburg nodded, leaving the room, Castiel entering a few moments later. "Rachel," Castiel said, looking over at her. "You're healing. That's wonderful. I'm glad it kicked in finally."

"Doc said he's never seen anyone turn around so quickly from what I had." Rachel smiled. "Thanks for all you've done, Cas. I didn't tell him I was touched by an angel."

Sam looked away, examining the floor as he silently digested her words, catching Castiel's smile back at her in the corner of his eye.

"Of course," the angel replied. "What are guardian angels for otherwise?"

"You've got a more important title than that."

Castiel moved to her left side, his hand hovering over her stomach. "None that matters more." He paused, his smile growing a little. "This child … he's a fighter, that's for sure."

"'He?'" Sam asked, brow raising as he looked back toward them.

"Oh." Castiel cleared his throat, seeing their surprised looks. "I'm sorry. I wasn't … I didn't mean to spoil it."

"It's a boy?" Rachel asked, unconcerned.

Castiel nodded. "Bound to be strong, like his father."

She stared blankly down at the blankets, smiling sadly. "Like father, like son," she murmured, running her fingers over the material covering her stomach.

"Indeed," Castiel said, his face tightening in confusion. "Despite the child's obvious peculiarity, you should be happy he is much like his father."

"Happy?" Sam asked, scoffing as he straightened. There was venom in his eyes that Castiel hadn't expected. "How dare you stand there and tell her to be happy, Cas. There isn't a damn thing to be happy about, other than she's alive."

Castiel seemed to take on his own anger. "You know, I've been trying to understand you for weeks now, Sam, but I'm finding it increasingly hard to." His tone was darker than anyone had ever heard it. "Whether or not you planned for this, this innocent child doesn't deserve your hate."

"This _thing_ is anything but innocent," Sam snapped, approaching Castiel.

"Sam—" Rachel objected.

"No, Rachel," he cut her off. "I'm done with the sick, twisted happiness you get out of this," Sam continued to Castiel. "Maybe you forgot what happened to her out there that caused this, but I sure as hell haven't. I see it over and over every night in my sleep." Sam stepped closer, looking down at the angel as he hung by a thread of sanity. "So stop acting like this is some goddamn miracle like you want it to be, because it's not. I don't give a shit if Jack is the exception!"

"What does Jack have anything to do with this?" Castiel asked.

Sam ignored him, fists balled at his sides. "You think just because he's good that this little bastard will be too? Doubtful. So spare me—spare her—of your sick optimism, okay? There is nothing— _nothing_ —Rachel 'needs' to be happy about. I don't give a shit who you are. Am I clear?"

Castiel was taken back. Sam's anger was downright confusing to him. "You keep comparing the baby and Jack as if …" The angel stopped, realization flooding over him. "Oh," he said wetting his lips as he stared at Sam, who was still enraged. "I see it now." Castiel laughed softly, shaking his head, rambling. "It all makes so much more sense now. I should've seen it before. I knew this wasn't like you. At first, I thought you might've been possessed, but then I remembered your tattoo and—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam asked, feeling one hair's width away from a full breakdown.

"Sam," Castiel said, still smiling, "this child … though he has an unusual strength, which I've yet to determine its source, he isn't … he isn't what you think he is."

"Of course he isn't," Sam snapped. "He isn't what anyone thinks he is. He's the spawn of a lowlife son of a—"

"Human," Castiel interrupted, silencing Sam. "Sam, the child is human."

Sam froze, readied to argue, but words leaving him. His lips remained parted, his body tensed as Castiel's words sunk in. "The baby is fully human, Sam," Castiel repeated gently, catching Rachel's slack jawed reaction out of the corner of his eye. "And you're his father."

Dean came back in with two cups of coffee in hand, smiling awkwardly as he shut the door. "The gang's all here," he said with a grin, though it faded as he saw Sam's and Rachel's shocked faces. "What'd I miss?"

"You're … You're lying," Sam finally managed to Castiel, quickly falling back into anger. "You just want me to empathize with it."

"What would the point of that be, Sam?" Castiel asked.

"Maybe you think I'll spare it because of who I am. If so, you're wrong."

"Sam, whether or not you'd like to accept it, what I've told you is the truth."

"No, Cas. You're nothing but a damn liar!"

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "What the hell, Sam?"

"Do you truly think I, as an angel and, more importantly, your friend, would lie?" Castiel countered patiently. "Or that I would want such an abomination, or fate for Rachel to bear? Granted, Jack is an exceptional blessing, but the odds of history repeating itself are quite slim, especially with the circumstances he would've been conceived under."

Sam was silent, anger quickly replaced by shock. "Cas," he whispered, looking from him to Rachel, then back, "you … You're saying … that …"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel replied gently.

Rachel swore she forgot how to breathe. "Cas," she stammered, "are you sure?"

"Is he sure about what?" Dean asked, watching in confusion. "Can someone fill me in?"

"I'm positive," Castiel replied to Rachel. "I've known since the motel. I thought … I thought you knew as well."

"Knew what?" Dean nearly shouted, gaining everyone's attention. He looked between Castiel and Rachel, then saw Sam's paled expression. "Someone better start talking, or I'm gonna go postal."

"You're going to be an uncle, Dean," Castiel explained.

Dean's brow arched. "Shit, Cas." He set one coffee down and rubbed between his eyes. "Now's not really the time to get things lost in translation."

"He's right, Dean," Rachel said. "I'm pregnant."

"Okay," Dean murmured as he drew in a deep breath. "Sweetheart, I love you. But we know that. And while I appreciate your positive outlook on everything—"

"No, you idiot," Rachel snapped, silencing him. "I'm pregnant with a _human_."

Dean's green eyes rounded. He swallowed hard. "A human?" He saw her nod. "Like, a human-human?" She nodded again. Slowly, he looked to Sam, whose face was frozen in a permanent state of shock. "Like, _your_ human-human?" he asked.

Sam looked at his brother, his stomach sick, his head pounding, his eyes full of tears. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like that."

Silence filled the room, no one moving. "Holy shit," Dean said, then started to laugh. "Holy shit, Sammy!" He set the second coffee down and grabbed Sam for a hug. Slapping his brother's back with a giddy laugh, he smiled, his face ready to crack from how wide it was. He pulled away from him, looking into Sam's eyes. "You're going to be a father!"

Tears fell down Sam's cheeks, his own laugh escaping. "I'm going to be a dad," he shuddered, looking at Rachel. More tears came, seeing her own. "We're … We're gonna … we're gonna have a …" He laughed, moving to her and wiping her tears. "A son," he whispered. "We're gonna have a son."

"Wedgewood's a boy?!" Dean shouted. He slapped his thigh. "Hell yeah! I'mma have a nephew!"

"Dean, keep it down," Castiel urged. "She's only eight weeks pregnant. There's no way you'd normally know that now."

"Right," Dean said, clearing his throat. Still, he couldn't wash off the huge smile on his face. "It's a boy. Wedgewood is a human boy. Holy shit!"

Sam searched Rachel's eyes, pressing his lips on hers, kissing her with fervor. "Our son," he whispered when they parted.

Rachel searched his eyes, fear rising up in her as she remembered Sam's words to Gabriel about the Apple Pie Life interrupting his purpose. Now she _really_ threw a wrench in the works for him. "Sam, this … this changes so much."

"Of course it does," Sam replied, stroking her cheek. "You, our baby … My life just became perfect."

"So …" She shuddered, trying to calm her nerves. "So you're not mad?"

"Mad?" He shook his head, confused. "Why would I be mad? This is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me."

"I didn't know if … if we would get in the way of your purpose."

Sam smiled down at Rachel, his thumb running over her lips. "Baby girl, _you_ are my purpose. You both are." She smiled relief as he kissed her all over her face and hair.

With sudden realization, he froze, utter sickness washing over him as he cupped her face. "Oh God," he breathed, everything hitting him all at once like a speeding freight train, decimating his mind and his heart. He fought the tremble that ran through him, his stomach sinking as he smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks.

"Sam?" Rachel asked, his sudden fear flowing over her and creeping in. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

It was almost too poetic, too typical Sam Winchester. Just as the light shone in, darkness was waiting to douse it. Only, this time, as many before, he had no one to blame but himself. He had been right all along: Everything he touched died, including his most perfect dream. He had killed it himself through his fear, and now there was nothing he could do to stop what would be because of it.

Through his new mental turmoil, he braced himself, shaking his head. Masking his dread with a smile, he cursed everything about himself as he ran his hand over her cheek. "Nothing," he assured, a bold faced lie if he ever told one. He kissed her cheek, smiling softly though he was splitting into two. "Nothing's wrong, baby girl." Bile raced up his throat, but he forced it back as he searched her beautiful, unknowing eyes. He knew how they looked in that moment would haunt him eternally. Still, she could never know what he had done. No one could. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, shutting his eyes. "Everything's going to be fine."


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you for the feedback! More is always welcome. :) I hope you enjoy the story! Let me know what your theories are, if you'd like. :)**

* * *

 **Six Weeks Later**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"Rachel!" Dean shouted, peering into the bunker's fridge. "Where're my leftovers?"

Rachel sighed, coming into the kitchen with a rag and cleaner in hand, hands on her hips, making her gently rounded stomach stick out a little more, her pregnancy highlighted her small frame. She wore one of Sam's tee shirts tied at the waist and a pair of leggings, which had become her staple wardrobe choice since confining jeans were now out of the question. "You mean your science experiment?" she asked. "In the trash. Where it belongs."

"You threw away my cheesesteak?!"

"Dean, that stopped being a cheesesteak a week ago. It was nearly mutated into an alien lifeform when I tossed it."

"Dammit!" Dean grumbled. "I was looking forward to eating that."

"I more than likely saved your life, so you're welcome."

"I hate nesting. Aren't you supposed to do this like months from now?"

Rachel shrugged. "How the hell should I know?" She smirked when she saw his pout as he peered into the cabinets for food, snatching a bag of chips. "If it makes you feel better, I did your laundry."

Dean turned around. "Seriously?"

"Yep. Just not your boxers. I made Sam sort them out, because ew." She wrinkled her nose.

"Well, alright." Dean nodded, crunching on some chips. "Maybe I like nesting. Thanks, Rach."

"Welcome." She headed back toward the library, pausing. "Oh, and by the way, Wedgewood wants pie, so I'm making some after I'm done dusting."

"Sweet."

"But," Rachel added with a cautionary tone, "you can only have some if you clean up your files in the library and put them back in the archive."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're cruel."

"Hey, those are my terms. Take 'em or leave 'em."

Watching her walk out of the kitchen, Dean grumbled, eating another chip. "Damn nesting." He looked over as he saw Sam padding into the kitchen in sweatpants and a white tee shirt, his hair a mess. "Well, look who finally decided to wake up at two o'clock."

Sam arched a brow at him, grabbing the coffee pot and prepping to make some coffee. "Yeah, well, you try staying up all night in a car to watch security feed on a potential werewolf."

"And?"

"And nothing. Nada." Sam sighed. "Obviously we're tracking the wrong person. Watching Greenwell sleep for ten hours was about the most boring thing I've ever done in my life. And gross. He snored and farted a lot." Dean chuckled. "Yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball."

"So, we're back to square one." Dean sighed, then eyed Sam. "Why the hell did you watch him so long, anyway?"

"Because … it's the job?" Sam asked, flicking the switch to the coffee pot, waiting by it while it brewed.

"When did you get back?"

"Around nine."

"Three hours past sun-up."

"And?"

"And I'm just wondering why you stayed on his trail that long."

Sam arched his brow at Dean. "What's with the Twenty Questions?"

Dean focused on his brother. Sam knew that look—it was one of interrogation. "Just didn't know why you weren't back sooner."

Sam leaned against the counter. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were suspicious of me."

"Not suspicious," Dean shrugged. "Just curious."

The coffee pot dinged, Sam turning to it. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sighed. "Well, I just wanted to be thorough. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Nope." Dean took a beer from the fridge, watching Sam mix in cream into his coffee as he opened the top. "Hey, by the way, you've got some files Rachel wants you to put away."

"Files?" Sam asked, confused as he sipped his coffee.

"Uh-huh. In the library."

Sam paused, thinking for a moment, then laughed. "Nice try. I put mine away already."

Dean grumbled. "Hey," he said with a small grin, "I'll pay you five bucks to re-file them."

"Pass. Have fun."

"Dammit!" Dean sulked as he went into the library and snatched the large stack of files. "This pie better be worth it!" he threatened over his shoulder to Rachel as he headed for the archives.

Rachel finished dusting, shaking her head. "It's like Wedgewood was born already, and morphed into a forty-year-old man," she said mostly to herself.

"So, you're saying our kid is gonna be like Dean?" Sam asked, leaning against the framed entry to the library, coffee cup in hand. "Is there something I should know?"

She turned to him with a smile, happy to see him. "Well, he certainly has Dean's food preferences, so maybe I should confess now before he comes out singing Led Zeppelin and gives it away." Rachel moved to Sam, brushing his hair from his eyes. He cupped her cheek and drew her in for a gentle kiss. "You look exhausted," she noted softly when they parted.

"I think I got a few hours when I got home," Sam admitted.

"Speaking of, when _did_ you get home?"

"Around nine."

"I know." Rachel stroked his stubbled cheek. "I heard you come in. I was folding Dean's laundry."

"I just wanted to be sure about Greenwell."

She nodded. "It's just … you've been out a lot at night. For the last month, you haven't let Dean take any night scopes or stakeouts. Why?"

Sam swallowed. "I figure, I don't sleep well anyway, and you need rest, so I might as well do it."

Rachel set down her cleaning tools on the desk next to them. "Yeah, but I miss you in bed with me," Rachel murmured, wrapping her arms around him.

Sam put his coffee down and drew her close, sinking one hand into her hair, the other rubbing the dip in her lower back. "God, I miss you too," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"So let Dean take any nights for a while, dufus," she teased. "No one's twisting your arm to stay out late."

He kissed her hair again, jaw ticking above her as he stared blankly ahead. "Yeah," he murmured, coolness flooding his veins. Sam kept her to himself, willing the rigidness to leave him before she noticed. Distracting himself, he slid his hand over Rachel's stomach, a smile instantly washing over him. "It feels like a dream," he admitted. "Like I'm going to wake up any second now."

Rachel rested her head on Sam's chest as he stroked her stomach. "I know what you mean." She played with his tee shirt, running the cotton between her fingertips. "Sam, do you think …" She paused. "Do you think your mom will like me?"

Sam pulled back to look into Rachel's eyes. "Rachel," he said gently, "she's gonna love you." He cupped her cheek. "How could she not?"

"Because you're her baby boy and I'm some random girl carrying your child?"

"Stop," he ordered, a finger to her lips. "You're not just some 'random girl.' You're _my_ random girl." He grinned, seeing her smile. "There's no way she won't like you. Besides, I love my mother, but honestly, I don't need hers or anyone else's approval. You're mine, and _I_ love you. That's all I need."

"You know," Rachel said, reaching up and playing with his hair, "you're nothing like they said you are."

"Who's 'they?'"

"Other hunters."

Sam smirked. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm. You've got quite a reputation for being some kind of psycho."

"Really?" Sam asked, brow raised.

Rachel nodded. "People seemed to think you were a freak. They told me to stay away from you and your brother."

"Well, you didn't listen very well."

"I didn't really like those hunters anyway," Rachel shrugged.

Sam smiled as she snuggled up to him, laying her head back on his chest. He drew in her scent, holding her close as he stroked her hair, playing with the silky strands. In that moment, it hit him: She likely didn't know about his past, since he never told her. He hadn't purposely kept it from her, but the conversation about what ran through his veins hadn't come up.

 _And now in our son's veins._

Was that why the baby gave Rachel visions? Because of the demon blood he inherited from his father?

Sam's throat ran dry. It was so obvious, now that he knew the baby wasn't Arioch's. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? He kept skimming over her hair, trying to avoid tipping Rachel off with his body language. If she didn't know about him, she couldn't know about their son. Not yet. She deserved better than an impromptu info dump about her lover and her child having demon blood.

Rachel leaned into his embrace and sighed heavily, stifling a yawn. "Tired?" Sam asked as he held her.

"Yeah."

"You need to be resting more."

"I just can't _not_ clean. Everything's so dirty."

"Sweetheart, you just cleaned on Monday. It's only Thursday."

"I know." Rachel sighed. "God, I hate nesting."

Sam laughed. "Come on, mama bird," he urged, leading her down the hall and into their bedroom. She gave in to a deep yawn, leaning on him as they walked.

"I hate hormones," she murmured as he led her toward their bed. She stopped as Sam turned down the blankets. "But the pie …"

"Later." Sam guided Rachel into bed and drew the blankets over her, combing her hair behind her ears. His fingertips lingered over her skin, her flesh a soothing balm to the ever-growing burn he felt inside.

"Stay with me," Rachel said, catching his hand before he could slip away.

Sam smiled sadly down at her. "We're back at square one with Greenwell. I need to regroup on the case."

"Please?"

"You're killing me, baby girl." He sighed deeply. "Tonight. I promise."

"Even if you have nightmares," she added, narrowing her eyes as she waited for his agreement.

"Nightmares and all," he promised, stooping low to kiss her. She gave a small mewl into his mouth—his kisses were always passionate, but this one in particular seemed like out of survival. He tasted like coffee, lingering toothpaste, and something salty she couldn't name.

Sam was suddenly more than hungry for Rachel, quickly finding himself hovering over her as he nipped and suckled on her lips, his tongue exploring her mouth. "Goddamn," he panted when he parted from her. "You smell and taste so damn good."

Rachel wasn't complaining—she whimpered as Sam attacked her mouth and neck, his hands feverish over her. His fingertips skimmed over her stomach, a small groan rumbling in his throat as he kissed and licked her collarbone.

With suddenness, Sam stopped, pulling up from her skin. He tried to catch his breath as his mouth hovered over her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he heard her ask, grunting as her fingers threaded into his hair.

"You need your rest," he managed, unable to help the little sneaks of tasting her skin as he stayed over her. Still, he knew he couldn't do this with her. Not now. It wasn't right.

"I need you," she countered.

With a growl, Sam yanked at the neck of her shirt, exposing the rise of her left breast. He operated as if he had no choice, need taking over reason as his tongue darted over her soft skin. His hand surrounded the remaining portion he couldn't see, covering it with a squeeze. "Sam," she shuddered, which only drove him more wild.

Still, he braced himself, stopping as he calmed his heart, sighing with deep regret. He felt dirty, sick. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" she asked, tracing his jawline.

He shut his eyes with a heady sigh. "You need to sleep, baby," he finally managed, gently kissing her cheek.

Rachel looked into Sam's eyes as he pulled back. There was a struggle in them that was both familiar and foreign, pain mixed with pleasure. His touch was tender and gentle, but his breath and body was that of a predator, heavy and hungry. Sam was always a man of duality, but it was more apparent than she'd ever seen it before. There was so much he said in his silence, and so little he revealed in his words. What was he struggling with so much? And why didn't he tell her?

With a parting kiss, Sam straightened. Rachel watched as he crossed to his bureau, stripping off his lounge clothes as he went. He tugged on a pair of dark jeans over his boxers and threaded a belt through them at an unhurried pace, as if he wasn't quite sure he was leaving yet. He was focused, his broad back muscles taunt as he moved. Normally, the show he put on would've captivated her in other ways, but all she could think about in that moment was what he wasn't saying. "You sure you're okay?" she asked, feeling concerned.

Sam turned to her as he buttoned and zipped his pants. "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured. "Just need to figure out this case before tonight. Otherwise, we'll miss our window." He sighed. "Then it's another thirty days, and who knows if the pack will move."

Rachel propped up on her elbows. "Need help?"

Pulling a gray tee shirt over his head, he smiled at her. "No, I need you to rest." He ruffled his hair, only calming the wavy chaos a bit. "You're doing more than you should be."

"I'm just cleaning and doing laundry."

"And cooking for a small army, and alphabetizing and rearranging the library by subject, and cleaning all of the weapons we have." He smirked when he saw her guilt. "Oh yeah. I've noticed."

"Nesting is like a terrible addiction," she sighed. "I just can't stop." She flopped back onto the mattress.

He crossed over to her, kissing her forehead. "That's why I'm making you stop now."

"You haven't exactly been sitting around eating bonbons."

"Yeah, but I'm not cooking up a miracle." He headed for the door, turning back to give her a smile as he opened it. "Get some rest, baby girl."

Rachel sighed deeply when Sam shut the door, her head too busy to relax. Sam wasn't being distant, but he wasn't being fully forthcoming either. _Maybe I just need to chill. Maybe I'm overthinking it._ Rachel settled in on her left side, facing Sam's empty pillow. Within a few moments, her eyes grew heavy, deceiving her curious mind. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she caught a small splotch of red on the outer corner of Sam's pillow. She sat up, taking the pillow and examining it. _Blood?_ It was such a small amount, though. _Nose bleed, maybe?_ She set the pillow down. _Stop. Just relax. He's right. You need rest._ Snuggling back under the covers, Rachel shut her eyes and let sleep take over.


	18. Chapter 18

"So if the werewolf isn't Greenwell, who else could it be?" Dean asked, sitting across from Sam in the library.

"Not sure," Sam admitted. "I had my money on Greenwell." He paused. "But …"

"But what?"

"We're pretty sure that Flynn, David, Waters, and Greenwell make their own pack, right?"

"Right, and?"

Sam flipped through the notes he made about the case, scanning the text. "I think we're after the wrong person as Alpha," Sam said, looking up at Dean. "Dean, what do we know about pack dynamics?"

Dean shrugged, drinking his beer. "Alphas are aggressive leads, Betas under them, Subordinates somewhere between, Omegas submissive caboose."

"So what if they are purposely reversing the dynamics? What if Greenwell is an Omega?" Sam asked, leaning in.

"Greenwell showed the most promise as an Alpha, especially with the blood trap."

"What if he's a diversion?"

"Like a defense tactic?"

"Yeah. If Greenwell is a Subordinate or an Omega fronting as an Alpha, then he could distract from the real Alpha."

Dean nodded. "It would keep things quieter for the Alpha, and be an interesting pack hunting technique. But wouldn't Greenwell still turn?"

"Maybe not. Maybe the Alpha determines hunts, and Subordinates and Omegas don't turn unless needed."

"Okay, so who is the Alpha?"

Sam looked back down at the file, reading through it. "Can't be Flynn, he had no reaction."

"So Flynn is a Subordinate? I'm thinking David is a Beta. And Waters seems like a Subordinate, if not an Omega. So, we don't have an Alpha? We're missing someone?"

With a sigh, Sam tapped the pencil between his fingers against the papers, a steady rhythm building. "Valerie?"

Dean shook his head. "The assistant? She isn't Alpha material."

"Think about it, though. Reverse harem kind of thing. Valerie at the top, able to breed and keep the bloodline going. Her position and innocence fits with the profile of diversion."

"Hmm," Dean said with a soft nod as he contemplated the theory. "So, Valerie is an Alpha only when necessary, otherwise keeping herself and her Beta from being suspicious."

"And Valerie _knew_ we'd be on Greenwell after talking to her at the office, so she had others hunt while we watched Greenwell."

"Clever little bitch."

Sam winced. "Dean."

"What?" Dean shrugged. "Technically, she is one."

Sam shook his head. "Alright, so I'll take one of the cars and scope out Valerie." He stood, tucking his file together when he stopped, feeling Dean's eyes on him. "What?" he asked, perplexed.

"You've been at the bunker for a grand total of five hours. Why are you so damn eager to get out of here?" Dean asked, cocking his head to the left a little.

Sam scoffed. "Dean, I'm working a job. Isn't that what we do?"

"It is. But you seem like you've been more than happy to stay away since we brought Rachel home."

"If you're trying to suggest that I'm avoiding her, you're wrong," Sam replied, his tone darkened.

"Sammy," Dean argued, standing, "you have a beautiful girl and a baby on the way. Yet you're throwing yourself at work as if it's all you have."

Sam eyed him. "I know what I have. And I value them more than life itself. But what do you want me to do? Stop working?"

"I want you to …" Dean sighed. "Just, let me do some of the grunt work. Stay here. Be here with her. Don't let this be her recovery all over again."

Rubbing his temples, Sam shrugged. "Fine." He knew his tone was a bit colder than he meant it to be. "You have fun keeping tabs on Valerie. I'm going to go sleep with my girlfriend."

"Dude." Dean's nose wrinkled. "I didn't really need to know that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Next to," he corrected. "I'm going to go sleep _next to_ my girlfriend. Call me if you find out anything." Tossing the file at Dean, Sam waved him off, watching as he fished out the Impala keys from his pocket. "Oh, and uh, buy some pie on the way back," Sam added.

"But Rach is making some."

"No she's not. She needs to get her nesting under control. We've got a lot more weeks ahead and she's already working herself too hard."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she must be desperate for tasks. She did my wash. That's rock bottom."

"Exactly. So, get some pie. I'd rather her rest."

"Good call, Sammy."

Sam sighed as Dean closed the bunker door after himself, then headed for the bedroom.

Quietly opening the bedroom door, Sam peaked in, smiling as he saw Rachel fast asleep. Her lips were gently parted, her cheek squished into the pillow in complete relaxation. Her hair was sprawled all over; she looked so peaceful. He couldn't help but stare at her in amazement. Just a couple months ago, he was alone. Now, he had his own family, a life he always wanted—a beautiful woman he loved, carrying their son. It couldn't get any better.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he cursed it silently as it broke the mood, backing away from the door as he looked at the caller ID. His stomach knotted as he answered it, moving far away from their bedroom. "What?" he growled.

"Temper, temper," the male voice on the other end chided. "Not a very nice greeting, Sam."

"Yeah, well you're not supposed to be calling me right now. So what the hell do you want?" Sam asked, glancing back at the empty hall behind him as he moved toward the kitchen.

"I wanted an update."

"And I gave you one last night. So don't call me off schedule."

"Mmm-hmm, but we didn't discuss _you_ last night, Samuel."

Sam's nostrils flared, his fingers tightening around the phone. "Look, I'm really not in the mood to chat. Especially not with you."

"Pity. You don't have a choice, really." As Sam listened, he rubbed his temples. "So, tell me—how does it feel to be back in the saddle? It's a better ride than your girlfriend, isn't it? Although I'm sure that sweet little thing is a good time."

"Fuck you," Sam snarled.

The man laughed. "Have a sense of humor." Sam could practically see his smile in his voice. "Life's too short, after all. Isn't it, Sam?"

Sam focused on the wall, barely keeping himself calm. "Are we done here?"

"Have you asked yourself what happens now?" the man continued, seemingly unfazed. "At least last night you had an outlet when you got ticked. But now with all that anger stirred up tight, I can't imagine how hard it'll be hiding from big bro and darling dear."

"I'm hanging up," Sam threatened, his blood practically boiling.

"Fine," the man sighed. "But the next time I talk to you, there'd better be a different Sam on the line. After all, you know how … fickle … pregnancy can be, don't you?"

The line went dead, and Sam lowered the phone from his ear, angrily throwing it onto the kitchen table with a rattle. He panted as he paced, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the roots. Gritting his teeth, he slammed his palm down on the counter, growling as he tried to slow his pulse. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on staying calm as to not wake Rachel, but finding it more than a challenge. He glanced back in the direction of their bedroom, pained. The man knew exactly what he was doing—Sam's anger made him far too dangerous to be near her now, for a more sinister reason than he cared to admit.

Sinking into the chair at the kitchen table, he buried his face into his hands, forcing back the tears. It had only been a month, and it felt like years. How did he ever think he could do this?

Still, none of it mattered. He didn't have a choice now, and even if he did, he would choose it again to keep Rachel and their son safe. They were all that mattered, not him. Somehow, he would push through. He'd protect them at any cost. They were his world.

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

Two hours later, Dean was back, pies in hand. He descended down the bunker stairs, surprised as he saw Sam seated at the kitchen table, spinning his phone around on the surface absentmindedly. "Dude. Your girlfriend is that way," he said, nodding to the hall.

"I didn't want to wake her," Sam managed. He had long since calmed, but didn't trust himself still.

Dean set the pies on the counter. "So, Valerie's definitely involved," he began, taking one out of the bag and grabbing a knife. He opened the box and sliced into the pie, cutting a double-sized piece. "I scoped out her apartment. Get this: She doesn't own a single silver colored item. Not one. Not even utensils." Dean put the slice of pie on a plate, grabbing a fork and stabbing into it. "I mean, if that doesn't say paranoid, I don't know what does." As he ate the bite, he focused on Sam, who was staring blankly down at the table. "Also, she had an octopus in her bathtub, and Tom Cruise was naked in her bed." He waited, seeing no reaction from Sam. "Sorry, am I boring you with the case you were obsessed with two hours ago?"

Sam looked over at Dean, whose brow was arched as he ate another bite. "I heard you. I was just thinking, that's all."

"Uh huh." Dean eyed him. "So, you were thinking of how we're gonna gank her, or how you're gonna tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing's going on, Dean." Sam stood, stretching. "I'm just tired."

"Then why isn't your ass in bed?"

"Didn't want to wake Rachel."

"Right. You said that." Dean took another bite. "Only, I'm pretty sure she'd go back to sleep okay, considering you'd be there for a change. So, what's the real reason?"

Sam shook his head, sighing. "Sorry, Dean. There's no mysterious secret here. I'm just trying to respect the needs of my pregnant girlfriend." Dean muttered to himself, finishing off his pie slice. Sam looked at the boxes. "Two?" he asked.

"Yep. Not letting Sparky eat it all on me." Dean set the plate down. "Dude, she's so friggin' tiny, even with Wedgewood. How does she eat that much pie?"

"No clue," Sam laughed.

"So," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest, "you guys, uh, picked out a name? Because, I mean, the kid obviously loves pie, and—"

"We're not naming him Dean," Sam interrupted.

Dean pursed his lips. "Then what are you naming him?"

Sam immediately went back to his recurrent dream world in his head, seeing the little boy named Robbie in his mind's eye. "We haven't really talked about it."

"He'll be a Winchester though, right?"

"Yeah. Rachel said she wanted that."

Dean leaned against the counter. "What about making her one too? You have the ring. So, get on it."

Sam wet his lips, looking away. "Timing hasn't been right." He shrugged. "Besides, I …" With an exhale, he looked to Dean. "I wanted Mom to be back."

"I get it," Dean nodded, sobering for a moment. "I'm happy for you, Sammy," he said with genuine tenderness. "You were made for it. And she's amazing."

"Yeah," Sam smiled. "She's incredible."

"Good thing I told you about the Lincoln case, huh?"

Sam arched a brow. "I nearly had to twist your arm to get you on board, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "Not how I remember it." Sam rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it's enough to want another Dean running around, eh?" Dean wagged his brows suggestively.

Sam stood and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping the top off. "Give it up. It's not happening."

"Fine," Dean sighed. "Just don't give him a pussy name like Terrence or Clayton."

"Hey, I like those names."

Both brothers turned, seeing Rachel hanging out in the entry to the kitchen with a smirk. "Kidding. They really aren't my style."

"Thank God," Dean muttered. "Dean's a much better choice, eh Rach?" he added with a knowing look.

"Not happening," she replied, heading for the pie. "But nice try." Rachel sniffed as she opened the box. "I'm so glad I don't need to make pie," she murmured, cutting herself a slice and putting it on a plate.

"You can thank your hus—" Dean froze, clearing his throat. "—handsome boyfriend for that suggestion," he quickly corrected, seeing Sam's death glare.

"He is cute, isn't he?" Rachel agreed, seeming unaware of Dean's error as she reached up to give Sam a quick kiss.

"If you like sad, wet moose puppies, I guess."

"I happen to love sad, wet moose puppies." Rachel bit into her forkful of pie, groaning as she ate it. "Why is pie so amazing?" she asked no one in particular.

"You do need to eat other things, babe," Sam reminded.

"Yep. After my pie, I'm planning on having chips."

"Not exactly what I meant."

Rachel shrugged. "It's fruits and vegetables. What more do you want?"

Sam smirked. "Maybe food that doesn't involve as much oil or sugar?"

"I could go for some chicken wings."

Dean laughed. "Wedgewood definitely takes after me." He looked to Sam. "So, ready to go gank a werewolf?" he asked him.

"Yep." Sam stretched, trying to get his mind off his earlier phone conversation.

"Oh sure," Rachel huffed, tossing her plate on the counter with a pout. "Go ahead. Have all the fun."

Sam rubbed her arm with an empathetic look. "Hey," he murmured, "killing werewolves isn't that much fun."

"Sure beats the hell out of considering washing your boyfriend's brother's underwear for entertainment."

"She's got a point there," Dean agreed.

With a glare to him, Sam turned back and cupped Rachel's cheek. "The next Salt and Burn we do, you're coming. I promise."

Rachel eyed him. "No takebacks."

"Nope. A promise is a promise." He waited for her response, smiling softly when he saw her give in. "There she is."

"Buy me wings on the way home," Rachel said, moving to the sink to wash her plate and fork.

"Babe, don't you think you—" Sam stopped as Rachel glared at him over her shoulder. "You got it," he finished, elbowing Dean as he chuckled. "Shut it," he warned him, snagging his coat from the hook it hung on.

"Pickles too," Rachel added, closing the fridge and opening the pantry, scanning its contents. "And grape jelly."

"Grape jelly?" Sam asked, brow wrinkling as he shrugged on his coat.

"Yeah. For the pickles."

Dean coughed with a gag. "Oh shit. That's sick."

Sam walked back into the kitchen, perplexed as he looked down at Rachel. "Babe, really?"

"Yes!" She sighed. "It sounds so freakin' good. I mean, vinegar, crunchy, sweet, grapes—"

"Stop," Dean begged, covering his mouth. He swallowed back a dry heave. "Listen, I've experienced some pretty messed up things in my life, but that? That's downright frightening."

Rachel shrugged, pouring herself a glass of milk. "Weenie. Can't handle pregnancy."

"If that's what you want," Sam said with a smile, "that's what you get." He bent down, giving her a smoldering kiss. "Love you. I'll be back soon."

"Love you. Be safe," she said as he straightened.

"Of course."

Running her hand over her stomach, Rachel watched as they left. "Just you and me again, Wedgewood," she sighed. "Just like it has been for the last three months."

She glanced in the direction of the library, an idea flitting through her head. "Unless ..." With a grin, Rachel grabbed the bag of chips from the table and dashed to the library. "Unless we can find a Salt and Burn ourselves."


	19. Chapter 19

Rachel pulled up a chair in front of Sam's laptop, opening the lid. _Password. Frick._ Rachel drummed her fingers over the desk, contemplating what it could be as she recalled the rhythm of his fingers whenever he entered it. It had at least four characters, but likely more. Still, she tried a few different options, each unsuccessful:

DEAN

MARY

JOHN

BOBBY

CASTIEL

She sighed, her thoughts lingering over one name she wasn't sure if she wanted to try. It would fit with the pattern of his typing. Chewing on her bottom lip, she keyed it in:

JESSICA

The screen unlocked, the icons popping up. Rachel swallowed. _Okay, so he had the computer long before you. He just never changed it. Not like he has to, anyway. He loves you, you idiot. Focus._

Rachel clicked open the browser, focusing on the news alerts Sam kept tabs on for cases as she crunched on some chips. Nothing seemed to jump out as a potential job. _Why am I looking for a job?_ It was risky; she knew if Sam found out she went on a hunt alone, while pregnant, he would be livid. Still, if she stayed in the bunker for five more minutes, she was going to explode, or kill the next person who walked in. Something had to give.

Her cell phone rang in the distance from where she left it in the bedroom. Rachel jogged to it, relieved when she saw it was Jody. She didn't want it to be Sam with bad news. They had a policy—text for status updates, call for more urgent communication. "Hey, Jody," Rachel said as she answered it, sitting on the mattress.

"Hi sweetie," Jody said with a smile as she walked the length of her dining room. "How are you feeling?"

"Besides useless, dumpy, and hungry?"

Jody laughed. "I know. But, you're definitely not useless or dumpy."

"It feels like it. Jody, I haven't been on a hunt in nearly three months. _Three months._ "

"Sam's just trying to keep you safe."

"And I love him for it. I just … I'm dying over here. I can't stay in this bunker for another minute."

Jody nodded. "I get that. Maybe see if he can just take you on a Salt and Burn?"

"He said he would, but Chuck only knows when we'll get something that simple."

"What are they working on now?"

"Aside from getting Gabriel back, werewolves this week. Last week, a jinn. Before that, a shifter."

"They've been busy."

"Yeah."

"Then I probably shouldn't have them look into another lead, huh?"

Rachel's brow arched. "What lead?" she asked, interest piqued.

"It's not something for you," Jody warned.

"Sure. Whatever. What is it?"

"Well, it looks like since Asmodeus died, there's a new fight for the throne. There's been an uptick of demon activity not too far away." Jody inhaled deeply. "There was an incident in a warehouse in Douglas County. Five people found dead of heart attacks. Still, some hunters who looked into it found sulfur everywhere."

"So someone is taking out the competition," Rachel concluded. "But who?"

"Not sure. But it looks like a pretty powerful battle."

"What do you mean?"

"The ones being taken out and how they are being killed suggest that a high-level player is in town."

Rachel's brow wrinkled. "How are they dying?"

"Without any apparent weapon wounds."

"So, someone is exorcising them?"

"Doubtful. No devil's traps or bindings of any kind. It's not likely they'd line up and wait to be damned back to hell. Whoever's doing this has some serious power. The boys could be in for a real match."

Rachel stood, quickly moving to the library. "Hang on." Once seated in front of the laptop, she opened a browser tab. "Okay, you said Douglas County?" Rachel keyed it in, pulling up the results, reading over the article. "Who do we know that can kill demons without a weapon?"

"Rachel," Jody warned, "this _isn't_ a case for you."

"I know," Rachel said, only partially paying attention to Jody as she read. "I'll give the boys the info when they get back."

"Okay, sweetie. Be safe, please."

"You too. I'll be fine. Can't get hurt in a warded bunker."

Rachel sighed, hanging up with Jody and putting her phone on the desk. She was dying to get out, to steal a car from the garage and drive to the warehouse herself. Still, she knew Sam would lock her in the dungeon until she went into labor if she did it.

She chewed on her lip, glancing toward the maps room. Her foot bounced as contemplated her options. If she actually left, Sam _would_ go crazy. And she knew it was a ridiculous response to how she was feeling. So why couldn't shake the desire to investigate?

With a growl, Rachel shut the laptop lid and stood, heading for the bedroom. Sinking her fingers into the roots of her hair, she shook it with a huff. She felt like a caged lion as she paced their room. It wasn't fair to be locked up. She knew why she was, but it was making her crazy. And Sam would know that as soon as he got home.

A long shower and a double portion of ice cream later, Rachel found herself on the couch flipping through Netflix. Nothing seemed appealing in the least. She pulled Sam's shirt closer around herself, drawing in a deep breath. Somehow, the faint hint of his cologne seemed to calm her, the woodsy notes soothing her frustration. Despite her irritation with her circumstances, she couldn't blame Sam for wanting to keep her safe. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

Her phone rang, slicing through the murmured voices on the show she was watching. Rachel quickly picked it up off the cushion next to her, looking at the caller ID. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she murmured, anger flaring nearly immediately. Rachel threw the phone down on the couch, turning away from it with resolve. There was no way in hell she was answering that very unexpected call.

As she tried to resume watching the show on TV, the phone rang again. Rachel's eyes flicked to it, swallowing hard when the same name appeared. With a deep breath, she turned and curled her legs tighter under herself, her hand finding her belly and stroking it. She couldn't help but admit she was now distracted, especially when it rang a third time, the same name appearing.

Nearly livid, Rachel snatched the phone and answered it. "What the hell do you want?" she demanded, fingers clenched tight.

"I just want to talk," the deep male voice said cautiously on the other end.

"Well, news flash: If someone ignores your calls multiple times in a row, that means they don't want to talk."

"Look, I know we're not exactly close—"

Rachel laughed. "'Not exactly close?' Try more like, I hate you."

The man seemed a little taken back. "That's a strong word, Rachel."

"I know a couple stronger ones I could use to describe it, if you'd like."

"Please," the man sighed. "Can we just have a civil conversation? For once?"

"Why? You're the one who won't take a hint and leave me alone."

"I took that hint for ten years, Rachel," the man argued. "Now, I need you to listen to me just once. Then I won't bother you again for the rest of your life."

Rachel rubbed her eyes; whether she wanted to admit it or not, the ache in his voice made her heart break a little. "Fine. So talk."

"Not over the phone. Can we meet?"

She scoffed. "No. Bye."

"Rachel, wait!" She froze, listening to his plea. "Please, please just give me an hour. After that, you're free to go. I won't bother you anymore. I promise."

Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. "Fine. Where are you? Home?"

"Uh, no. I'm at a bar called … uh … Morley's?"

Her brow arched. "You're in Lebanon?"

"Yeah."

"How in the hell did you find me here?!"

"I'll explain that. I just … I need to see you."

Rachel glanced to the maps room, looking at the boxed panel where all the car keys were. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Hanging up the phone, she flicked off the TV, standing. If she told Sam she was leaving, he would have a fit. She couldn't let him know. It's not like she was going somewhere dangerous, anyway.

As she went to exit the library, Rachel grabbed a flask of holy water and a demon blade, bringing them to their bedroom. She picked up her small gun, stowing all of the items in her purse before shrugging on a pair of leggings, socks, and her sneakers. She kept Sam's shirt on, rolling the sleeves and sliding on her jacket. The big shirt hid her stomach well, something which was critical for this particular meeting. There was no way in hell that topic was being breached.

In the bathroom, she twisted her damp hair into a low bun, a few pieces falling out around her face. As she looked into the mirror, she hesitated. So much had changed since she last saw him. She was a completely different person. Would he notice that, beyond the physical? She hoped so. She wanted to rub it into his face until he couldn't breathe.

Rachel took the set of keys for one of the smaller cars from the maps room, setting the alarm on her way out to the garage. With one final glance back atthe bunker entryway, Rachel got into the car and took off.

* * *

 **Morley's Bar**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Rachel felt weird walking into the bar being pregnant, and without Sam or Dean with her. Still, she had agreed to give an hour of her time. Despite her loathing, she had to admit she was a little curious about what he might tell her. After all, it had been ten years since they had spoken. And he sounded more than desperate to bury the hatchet.

He was easy to spot-he was a good-looking man, but more notably, he had always been the type of man to exude a certain charisma that made him stand out from the crowd. Still, his charms had never worked on her, something she knew frustrated the hell out of him. For all his stature in his community, he was unable to win over one of the most important people in his life.

With a deep breath, Rachel squared her shoulders and walked over to the corner table where he sat, running his finger up the side of his glass, collecting the condensation on his fingertip. As if on cue, he looked up, a tiny smile tugging across his mouth as he watched her approach. She kept her eyes on his, hoping he received the signal-she wasn't afraid of him. Not anymore.

"Rachel." Jeremy Lentz stared at her in a sort of awe; she swore she saw his eyes become a little glassy. "Look at you. You've grown so much."

Rachel looked over her father, noting the extra wrinkles around his dark brown eyes, and the way the salt and pepper became more pronounced in his hairline. He was still a broad man, a body that had once intimidated her behind closed doors, while embracing strangers with warmth outside of them. "That's what happens in ten years," she replied.

Jeremy nodded. "It's hard to believe it's been that long."

Rachel took out the flask, handing it to him. "Drink."

"Rachel, I-"

"If you want to talk to me, then drink this."

With a deep breath, Jeremy took the flask and sipped from it with no reaction. His brow wrinkled. "Water?"

"Holy water."

"Holy water?"

"Just making sure you're not more of a demon than usual. You have an hour," Rachel reminded stiffly, snatching the flask from his hand.

"Rachel," Jeremy sighed, "do you truly have that much contempt for me? Still?"

"I actually have more, but I was trying to be nice about it."

Rachel watched as Jeremy rubbed his brow, clearly frustrated. "You always were your own person," he said, smiling softly as he shook his head. He looked up, glancing her over. "Dare I say someone's tamed you?" he asked, nodding to her shirt. "I can see it's a man's from how it buttons."

"Whether it's your hour or not, that's none of your business," Rachel replied, examining his eyes.

"Fair enough," Jeremy nodded. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks. I would like to know how you found me, and why you're here, though."

"Finding you wasn't all that difficult." Jeremy leaned back a little. "Not when you know where to look."

Rachel lifted her chin a little. "And how might you, of all people, know where to look?"

"As I said before, it will become apparent." Jeremy took up his glass, sipping his soda. Rachel looked at the gold wedding band on his left ring finger. "I guess the beginning is a good place to start," he said when he set it down. "In nineteen ninety-one, Cathy and I had just transferred to Georgefield Assembly." Rachel's brow softly arched at the use of her mother's first name. "I was to be their new associate pastor. It was a big move-we came to New York from Texas. August was only two." Jeremy paused. "He says hi, by the way."

The mention of her older brother's name made her nauseous. "Swell."

Jeremy sighed. "Cathy was eight months pregnant at the time. We were never really sure if it was the stress of the move, or if it was because of complications, but she went into premature labor one week after we arrived in New York. The baby was stillborn." He saw Rachel's subtle reaction. "We were devastated."

"I'm sure," Rachel said flatly, trying not to show any sympathy, though it was hard hearing what her mother went through-especially in her current position. "So, can we cut to the chase?"

"I am," Jeremy replied, narrowing his eyes. "That's where you come in. Three days after we got back from the hospital, we got a knock on our door. It was a young couple, the woman holding a four-day-old baby girl." He paused. "You, Rachel," he murmured.

Rachel's lips parted. "Wait, what?"

"The young man-we never got their names-said they didn't know who else to turn to. They knew we had just come to the area and saw us as their only option. He told us an incredible story of crossroads, demons, and selling their souls ten years prior. We, of course, were sure he was crazy, but they both were convinced their only choice to keep you safe was to leave you with us."

Sickness bloomed in her stomach, acid creeping up her throat. "Are you telling me that you and Mom aren't actually my parents?"

Jeremy nodded, a solemn look on his face. "After your father told us their story, your mother begged us to take you, to raise you. They … they didn't want the life they chose for themselves for you. They wanted you to stay far away from the darkness that was after them." He looked down at the table surface, folding his hands in front of him. "So, we did. We kept you. We hadn't told anyone of Cathy's labor. The timing was good enough for us to say you were ours. It took some finagling at the state level, but we managed to keep it all quiet."

"Yeah," Rachel scoffed, "you were always good at that."

Rubbing his brow, Jeremy sighed. "We named you Rachel. It means 'lamb.' Cathy thought the innocence of it would help to keep you from that life. We both thought we could." He swallowed, looking up at her. "But no matter what we tried, you were always curious about the darkness. You would rattle on as a child about ghosts and vampires, as if it were second nature. As if it was always in you."

Seeing his pained expression, Rachel softened a little. "Were they hunters?" she asked. "My parents?"

"I'm not sure," Jeremy admitted. "They weren't keen on telling us much about themselves. But, they certainly were aware of the darkness. That much we knew. So, we tried to keep you safe, but you were like a hummingbird-always able to flit away just before you could be caught." He laughed softly. "August, of course, became influenced. Cathy was desperate to keep him away from it all, so she separated you both a lot."

"Yeah, and made him believe I was a monster," she mumbled.

"Rachel, we were only trying to protect you," Jeremy insisted. "Then, you left, and-"

"I left," Rachel snapped, "because of what _you_ did to me." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I left because I spent years as an outcast in my own home. You made me feel like a monster for who I was. I left, because when I needed my family the most, they abandoned me. I left, because _you_ made me lie every single day of my life for two years. _You_ made me pretend as if nothing ever happened. _You made me_ stay in the same room with them. You know, the three boys who raped me?" She saw Jeremy wince, his gaze falling away. She knew her voice was raising, and she didn't care. "You told me that it was 'for the good of the church.' But what about me? Huh? What about the girl you raised as your daughter? Oh, which doesn't surprise me-yet another lie. Why should I even believe you right now? For all I know, this is some kind of excuse you came up with so you wouldn't have to accept the fact that _you_ drove me away all on your fucking own."

Jeremy was quiet for a prolonged moment, taking a sip of his drink. "I regret that," he finally said, his tone seemingly genuine.

"How could you?" she challenged. "You never believed me. You couldn't have. What kind of father would do what you did if they believed their child?"

"That's neither here nor there."

Rachel laughed coolly. "Wow. I guess you're right. Seventeen years of painful lies isn't important." She stood, grabbing her purse. "Have a nice life."

"Wait," Jeremy called out, making her pause, her back to him. "There's more I need to tell you."

"Yeah, well I don't think I want to hear anymore."

"Rachel, please," Jeremy begged. "You want to know how I found you, right?"

Rachel turned, looking back at him. She did-she wanted to know how her safe world was breached by him. Slowly, she came back to her seat, sitting with a rigid look. "You just lost time. You've got five minutes."

Jeremy shut his eyes with a deep exhale. "When you told us about Alex, we … we were terrified. You had found the world we didn't want you to. We didn't know how else to help you, and we couldn't allow that darkness into our home."

"So you called me a crazy liar and disowned me," Rachel concluded. "Because that's so much better than admitting the truth and keeping your relationship with your kid."

"Think about what damage it would do to the congregation," Jeremy challenged. "We were there to provide hope, not darkness! If all those people knew what you know, how do you think they'd react?"

"I'd love to believe that you kept the truth from them for their own good, but let's be honest: You only did it to save face."

"I did it to protect you as well. I told everyone that you wanted to travel, so you wouldn't be around. It was better they saw you as a bit of an aloof spirit than a psychopath."

"How did you find me?" Rachel asked, eyes narrowed.

Jeremy drew in a deep breath. "After Alex, I began to do a little digging into your … hunting world. I knew you'd never come back, so I wanted to keep tabs on you somehow. I made contact with Chris Hartley in Ohio, who then gave me Vance Matthews' information. I kept in touch with him for a while."

Rachel scoffed. "Well, that makes a lot of sense. You and Vance being buddies."

"When you weren't with him, you were great at slipping under the radar," Jeremy continued. "Until Hailey."

At the mention of her name, Rachel looked away. Vivid flashes of memories seeped into her mind's eye—Hailey's limp body, feeling her faint pulse under her fingertips, Sam's muscular arms surrounding her as she fought his protection, Dean's visibly heavy heart as he took the burden from her, and the blast of the round that ended Hailey's suffering.

"Your name came up in a couple places, only because of your more popular counterparts you paired with," Jeremy continued. "The Winchester brothers. Everyone I spoke to told me they were two hunters that were deeper in the life than any others. It frightened me. I had to track them down, so I could know if you were okay." He looked into her eyes. "Are you still working with them?"

"None of your business."

"Rachel, those men are dangerous," Jeremy warned. "They attract nothing but the absolute worst of this world you threw yourself into."

"Actually, they've done nothing but help, protect, and care for me," Rachel corrected.

Jeremy laughed. "They've had direct dealings with Lucifer himself!"

"They've saved the friggin' world!" Rachel argued.

He shook his head. "They're nothing but absolute trouble, Rachel. Have you even heard of some of the things they've done? Opening Hell's gate, selling their souls, killing people across multiple states … The crossroad demons are a cakewalk compared to them. The one brother … did he tell you about himself?!"

Rachel froze, masking her fear with a neutral expression. "What are you talking about?"

"The younger one. Every single hunter I've spoken to—and I've spoken to plenty since I found out you were working with them—has said that he's not to be trusted."

"Why?"

"Because of who he is."

"And who is that, exactly?"

Jeremy leaned in, exhaling softly. "Rachel, they say he is part demon. That he has demon blood in his veins. And he has since he was an infant."


	20. Chapter 20

Rachel's stomach dropped, her heart freezing. He had to be lying, just trying to manipulate her as he always did. Sam, with demon blood? There was no way. "That's ridiculous."

"Why would I lie, Rachel?" Jeremy paused, seeing her cold, incredulous look. He held his hand up. "I have _no_ reason to lie regarding this. I know you will never come back home, or come back from this life you've made for yourself."

"This 'life' has saved countless people," she argued. "Maybe even more than yours has, if people knew who you really were."

Jeremy stiffened at the insinuation. "I don't expect you to understand it from my perspective. I just want you to make sure you're safe."

"Gee, thanks. You're about twelve years too late." Rachel shook her head. "So, you're here to tell me all this … why? With Mom gone, you feel guilty all of a sudden?"

Jeremy swallowed, looking down at his wedding band. "I'm dying, Rachel," he said softly. He paused, rubbing his eyes. "Stage four lymphoma. I've got about six months to live. At least until I see your mother again."

Despite her resentment for the man, Rachel couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and sadness over his revelation. "You're not doing chemo?" she asked after a few silent moments, her tone much softer.

"There's no real point," Jeremy replied. "The congregation is aware. August is set to take things over with Elizabeth. My time is at an end here." He examined Rachel. "I had to see you before … And I wanted you to know what I did. What we did, and why we did it. I wanted you to know that you can always come home from all of this. August would love to have you back, and so would I. But I know … I know you're too deep now. So, I came here to warn you about those you might be keeping company with."

Rachel contemplated what Jeremy told her about Sam. It was a ridiculous thought. Sam having demon blood? Wouldn't that make him evil? He certainly wasn't. It didn't make sense. It was likely a senseless rumor designed to make people afraid of the brothers rather than empathetic. She saw how Vance had viewed them, and knew what others had said before about them. She had about as close of a relationship as anyone could with them, and she hadn't seen anything like others had described. For whatever reason, other hunters were cautious of trusting them, and they crafted rumors to support their causes. That was all.

"You're right," Rachel said after a long pause. "Sam and Dean are deeper into this world than others." She searched Jeremy's eyes. "But they also are more skilled, more compassionate, and more motivated on behalf of the good of the world. They are decent, honest people. If it weren't for them, I'd be dead." Rachel caught Jeremy's reaction. "And if it weren't for them, I wouldn't have anyone to call family."

Rachel's stomach twisted as she stood. Her words were truthful, but harsh, considering what she just learned about Jeremy. Still, she couldn't pretend to feel something more than superficial empathy for him. He hadn't been her father for over a decade. He was the man more happy to hide her away from his world than to try to keep her in it.

Without another word, Rachel turned for the exit, walking away as she contemplated if her attitude was the right one. She heard Jeremy following behind her, then felt his hand gently take hold of hers. She paused, gritting her teeth. "Please, Rachel," Jeremy asked softly, a quiver to his voice, "just promise me that you will be careful."

She looked over her shoulder back at him, seeing the glassiness of his eyes. "I will be," she replied, her tone gentler. She wet her lips, trying to muster up more empathy. "Thank you. For telling me what you did."

Jeremy nodded, releasing her hand. "I hope … I hope you find what you've been looking for all these years."

Rachel swallowed. Somehow, he saw through her toughened exterior straight to the heart of her, and it was unsettling having him that close, that perceptive. She managed to nod, then turned and left, not looking back as she let the bar door swing shut behind herself.

* * *

Rachel palmed the car keys she had taken as she exited the bunker's garage, freezing when she saw the Impala parked out front. "Oh shit." She had assumed it would take Sam and Dean longer to take out the werewolf, buying her time to leave and come back undetected.

With a swallow, she entered the bunker with her key, Sam waiting as soon as she opened the door. He had his jacket half on, his cell phone in one hand, and a panicked look on his face that made Rachel feel instant guilt. "Fuck," Sam breathed, his entire being still tense. "What the hell, Rachel?" he demanded as she shut the door behind herself. "Where the hell were you? You didn't answer any of my texts or calls and—"

"I'm sorry," Rachel interrupted, knowing she was a bit stiff, still more than on edge from her conversation with her father. Just seeing him made her anxious, let alone him telling her what he did. "I'm fine. I didn't look at my phone."

Brushing by him, Rachel descended the bunker stairs, Sam only momentarily stunned before following her. "You scared the shit out of me!" he argued behind her. "We get back, you're gone, demon blade missing, a car taken—"

"I _said,_ " Rachel repeated, whirling around to face him, "I'm fine, okay? So, let it go." She barely held herself together, feeling a heartbeat away from breaking down.

Sam caught her shoulders before she could leave. "Talk to me," he urged, brow wrinkled as he studied her expression.

"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted.

"Yes, there is. I can see it in your eyes." Sam studied her. "What happened?"

Rachel's lip quivered through her silence, the emotional dam she held together the entire ride home threatening to crumble. "My father called me," she finally whispered.

Dean came flying into the maps room, jacket and shoulder holster on. "Alright, let's go, Sammy," he shouted. "I've got my—" He froze, seeing Rachel within Sam's hold. "Shit, Rachel," he exhaled. "Where the hell were you?"

Sam held one hand up at him, urging him to be quiet. "Your father called you?" he asked Rachel, shocked.

"Yeah," she murmured, voice breaking, tears barely held back. "'Daddy of The Year.'"

Letting go of her shoulder, Sam stripped her jacket off, taking it and her purse from her. He threw them on the maps table, leading her to the couch in the lounge. Dean followed them, watching as Sam sat Rachel down. "What happened?" Sam asked, sitting down next to her.

"He wanted to talk," Rachel replied. She suppressed a shiver, biting the inside of her cheek as she fought her tears. To even her surprise, she laughed; it pained Sam. "I made him drink holy water. I wanted him to be a demon so badly, so it could explain everything he did to me. Turns out, he's just a shit human."

Sam tucked her stray hair behind her ear. "How'd he know where to find you?"

"He knew Vance."

The mention of Vance's name made Sam crazy. He kept it back as he gritted his teeth. "How?"

"I guess I should've started with that he's not really my father," Rachel said.

Sam's eyes widened. "What?"

"Apparently, my real parents gave me to him and my mom right before Hellhounds took them for a crossroads deal." Looking down, she swallowed. "He said they tried to keep me from this life, but I've always known it, and always gravitated toward it. So much so that it frightened my mom." She met Sam's eyes, pained. "What does that even mean? Does it mean I'm evil?"

"No, baby girl," Sam said, shaking his head. "You're not evil. There isn't a single evil thing about you." His thumb stroked her cheek. "Did he tell you who your parents were?"

"Were they hunters?" Dean asked gently.

"He doesn't know," Rachel replied, glancing up to Dean. "They didn't tell him." She drew in a deep breath. "When I emancipated myself, he got in touch with one of my first hunting contacts, my ex, who led him eventually to Vance when Hailey was taken. Then he heard I was with you." She wet her lips, looking back at Sam. "He also told me something about you," she whispered.

"Me?" Sam asked, confused.

Rachel nodded. "Something you never bothered to mention: That you have demon blood." Sam's thumb stopped its gentle stroking pattern. He visibly tensed, jaw ticking as he remained silent. "Is it true?"

"Yes," Sam admitted softly.

"When were you going to tell me?" she asked, more tired than angry.

"I wasn't trying to hide it from you," he began, his hand lowering from her face to take one of hers on her lap. "Honestly." He sighed. "When I was six months old, the demon that killed my mother gave me demon blood with the intention that I'd lead a war on his front. It didn't happen. Having it gave me visions and powers."

"So, our son …" Rachel swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Their son was part demon.

Sam cupped her face. Rachel could see the pain in his eyes. "Listen to me: Regardless of our shared blood, our son is the innocent little boy you always believed he was. But he is powerful, and that power is one that our enemies would love to have."

"That's why Asmodeus wanted him," she concluded softly. Sam felt the tension in her grow. "He knew." She looked into Sam's eyes, hers watering. It was easier when it had only been her own life at stake for the pregnancy. Now, knowing what their son was worth to those they fought, it scared her for him more than she could imagine. "When they find out about him, they'll try to take him, won't they?"

"No one is taking him from us," Sam promised with a firmness to his voice, lifting Rachel's head up when she tried to look away. " _No one_ , baby girl. And no one is going to lay a finger on you."

Tears fell down her cheeks. "But what if—"

"No one," Sam interrupted. "No one is hurting you or taking him."

Rachel shook her head. "You say that, Sam, but how can you possibly—"

Sam rested his thumb over Rachel's mouth after wiping her tears. "Because I won't let them," he finished. His stomach sickened from the details he left unsaid, knowing she was perceptive enough to see he wasn't telling her everything. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and our son safe. _Whatever_ it takes."

Rachel knew there was something Sam wasn't saying, but she was too emotionally drained to address it. All she wanted was the safety of his arms. "Yankees," she said, barely audible.

It might as well have been a scream for Sam, though. Immediately, he guided her to his lap, settling into the corner of the couch as she curled up against him. "Shh," he murmured, hearing her sobs as she pressed her face into his chest. His left hand smoothed over her hair, his right pressing her as close to himself as he could. He closed his eyes, fighting back the bitterness for her father that grew in response to her pain. "I'm right here, baby girl," he assured, heart breaking as he felt her body shake against him with her tears. "You're not alone. Never again."

Sam opened his eyes after a while, seeing they were alone. He hadn't realized Dean had left, too consumed with easing her fears. "Let's go to bed, baby," he urged, tracing over Rachel's back. She had become quiet and still against him, her fingers tight around his jacket and shirt.

"How will I ever be a good mom?" Rachel asked, staying close to Sam.

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Sweetheart, you're going to be an amazing mother."

"What if I'm like them?"

"There's no way that's even possible. None. Want to know why?" Sam pulled Rachel away from himself just enough to look into her eyes. "Because you're you. You're nothing like them. Nothing at all."

Sam scooted toward the front of the sofa, holding Rachel in his arms as he stood, lifting her up with himself. "Come on," he said, kissing her forehead. "I need to snuggle with two of my favorite people."

He carried her down the hall as if she weighed nothing, instructing her to cling to his neck as he used one hand to open their door. With a gentle kick, he closed it behind himself, sitting her down on the end of the bed. He caught her arm as she tried to crawl into her spot. With a small smile, he took off her sneakers and socks, then peeled off her leggings, unable to help but let his fingers linger momentarily over her rounded stomach before resuming the task. He gently undid her hair, the scent of her shampoo hitting his nose as he loosened the still damp waves. Letting his fingers sink into the mane he loved so much, Sam pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, sighing against her skin.

"Why are you so good to me?" he heard Rachel whisper.

He laughed. "Because you're my girl, and I love you."

Sam guided Rachel into her side of the bed, tucking the covers around her and standing. He made quick work of stripping out of his clothes down to his boxers, eager to hold her. Sam slid into position next to her, covering himself with blankets as he drew her close. "Mine," he reminded her as he nuzzled into her neck and shoulder from behind, one hand sliding over her womb and resting on it. His palm and fingers splayed over it, nearly covering the entire expanse. "All mine."

* * *

Rachel woke in the middle of the night, finding herself alone. Their room was nearly pitch black, except for the nightlight and her phone as it glowed with a notification. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looked at the screen. It was a meaningless alert from her news app, nothing she needed to worry about. With a sigh, she tossed the phone onto her nightstand, sitting up as she tried to think where Sam was. Bathroom? Kitchen? She waited in patient silence, convinced after quite some time that it wasn't the first.

She stood, her feet hitting the chilly concrete with a shiver. The room was fairly warm, but it still didn't change the way the utilitarian structure failed to retain heat like a normal home. Rachel rubbed her upper arms as she left the bedroom, first checking the bathroom to find it empty. She walked the hall, discovering that the kitchen was dark, and the library and lounge were empty, leaving Rachel a little more than worried. Her stomach sank as she stood in the maps room; it wasn't like Sam to just disappear. Did he leave? If so, why? And where would he go?

As she walked back toward the hall, Rachel stopped, hearing a muffled thud. "Sam?" she called out, now panicking as she realized she was without a weapon. Wetting her lips, she grabbed the closest thing next to a weapon she saw, her fingers digging around the umbrella as she held it like a baseball bat. She waited through the silence, beginning to panic when she didn't hear anything further.

 _Dean. I hope he's okay._

Switching gears, now worried about Dean, Rachel quietly headed down the hall, stopping in front of Dean's room. Just as she was about to open it, a large hand grabbed onto her shoulder, holding her still as another covered her mouth and her gasp of shock.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey you, you awesome person, you: Leave me a review if you're liking what you're reading! ;)  
Let me know what you think! I love hearing feedback of all kinds!**

 **xo**

* * *

Rachel turned around, cursing in a whisper as she saw through the shadows Sam looking down at her, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. "Sam!" she whispered in shock, trying to catch her breath.

Sam took her away from Dean's door, leading her back to their room. "Sam, you scared the shit out of me!" Rachel said when he shut the door.

"I'm sorry," Sam replied, taking her into his arms, attempting to calm her as he pressed her to himself, fingers tight around her. "I couldn't sleep."

"Where were you?"

"Archives. I was looking to see if I could find anything to help track down Gabriel."

Rachel pulled away from Sam, looking into his eyes. "Any luck?"

"I didn't find anything we didn't already know," he sighed, playing with her hair.

Her brow furrowed; Rachel reached up and dabbed at Sam's lip. "You're bleeding," she murmured, withdrawing her finger and showing him.

"Really?" He wiped it away from her finger. "Guess I, uh, cut my lip chewing on it." He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only a small dab more left behind. "I'll be right back," he said quickly, seeming flustered. "Gonna go wash my face."

"You okay?" Rachel asked, studying him.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I'll be right back."

He slipped out of the room, quickly heading for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he examined his reflection in the mirror, wiping at the smeared blood near his lip. "Shit." His hands shook as he turned on the water, letting it run for a moment before he splashed some on his face and scrubbed at his skin. When he was done, he shut the water off with a blind hand, snagging a nearby towel and pressing it to his face. Sam exhaled, blotting the towel over himself, failing to calm the shake to his hands. He lowered the towel, exposing his reflection in the mirror. The man he saw, he barely recognized. He swallowed, tossing the fabric down on the counter with a growl and left the bathroom.

Rachel exhaled, watching in the small glow of the nightlight as Sam walked back into the room. He seemed mentally preoccupied, as he had earlier that night. There was a war happening in his mind, and she didn't know what was causing it, or how to help him fight it. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly as he settled in next to her, facing her.

Sam gave her a small smile, one that tugged on her heart. "I'm just worried," he replied, pinching the ends of her hair between his fingers. He rolled the strands between them, staring down at them as he laid on his side next to her.

"About the baby?"

"About both of you."

"Is that why you can't sleep?"

He laughed softly through his nose. "I haven't been able to sleep for about thirteen years now."

Rachel snuggled up to Sam, stroking his cheek. "I know something that might help," she said coyly, her hand sliding down his chest toward his pants.

Sam caught her wandering hand with a smirk. "Not now," he murmured, lacing his fingers through hers.

She pouted. "Why?"

"Because. You need to rest too."

"I will. When I'm done."

He shook his head, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "No. All I need is you next to me."

She sighed. "Yeah, well that didn't work earlier."

"Baby girl, I'm used to not sleeping." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "You, though, need to rest. I need my best girl feeling good."

Rachel playfully arched a brow. "'Best girl,' huh?"

"Yeah. You're better than the others I have in storage."

"... Now that just sounds creepy."

Sam paused. "It does, doesn't it?" He chuckled, kissing her nose. "Sleep, sweetheart."

With a deep sigh, Rachel nestled into the crook of Sam's arm, her cheek pressed to his chest as she traced what she could see of his tattoo. She smiled as she felt him nuzzle her hair and his hand stroke her stomach under her shirt. "Have you thought about names?" she asked, feeling unable to sleep.

Sam smiled against her hair. "I have. Have you?"

"No. I feel bad."

"Why?"

"Because I …" She paused, feeling anxious. "Because I would want him to be named after someone important or special, and I don't have anyone in my life besides you, Dean, and Cas that fit the bill. And I'm not really into Juniors or direct copies."

Sam traced small circles over her womb. "I feel the same way. About naming him after someone special."

"Who were you thinking?"

"Well," Sam said, clearing his throat, "I …" He chuckled, a light flush coming over his cheeks. "I can't even lie. I've dreamt about having a son with you way before I knew he was mine."

Rachel pulled away a little and looked up into his eyes, her heart stopping. "Really?"

"Really." His hand moved from her stomach to her cheek, his fingers gliding over her skin. "In my dream, our son was named Robert Jonathan. Robbie for short. He was named after Bobby Singer and our dad, John Winchester."

Rachel's lips parted; she pulled away from him for a quick moment, rolling over to her nightstand, where she plucked the small, black stuffed dog Sam bought her in Cawker City. Laying on her back, she looked at the tag. "Sammy," she whispered with realization, looking at him with glassy eyes. "Is that why you …?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He caught the tear that dropped down her cheek with his thumb. "Don't cry, baby girl," he urged gently.

"It's perfect," Rachel whispered.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, hopeful.

She nodded, more tears falling. "Robbie," she whispered, her fingers skimming over her stomach. She sniffled, laughing at herself. "It's perfect. I love it." She reached up and kissed him, he returning it with his own. When they parted, she curled back into his embrace, holding the dog close as he resumed massaging her womb.

"I can't wait to feel him kick," Sam mused.

"Me too," Rachel agreed.

"And for when—" Sam paused, swallowing with a nervous smile. "For when I get to hold him. I already feel so big and clumsy," he admitted. "I'm afraid I'll break him."

Rachel laughed. "You won't break him, dufus."

Sam sighed contentedly. "We need a crib," he murmured. "And a changing table. And a car seat. And a stroller." He paused, swallowing. "Clothes. Diapers. Wipes."

Both were silent for a prolonged moment, each staring blankly with wide eyes as they thought about what was to come. "How are we buying all this?" Rachel asked.

"... I'll hustle people at pool?"

"And _where_ are we putting all this?"

"We could always kick Dean out of his room," Sam shrugged. "Make him live in the Dean Cave."

"If it was only that easy." Rachel exhaled. "For real, though—where are we going to have a nursery?"

"Spare room?"

"Won't your mom be using that?"

Sam sighed. "Right. Um … We could convert the storage room?" Rachel's brow arched. "Yeah, bad idea," Sam murmured. "Well, I guess we will have to see if my mom can switch for another room in the second hall, then we can blow out the wall between our rooms for a doorway."

"Isn't the wall concrete? And like a foot thick?"

Sam pursed his lips in thought. "C4?"

Rachel patted Sam's firm stomach with a sigh. "Yeah, we'll figure this out when you've slept."

"What's wrong with C4?" Sam asked, confused.

"Other than you'll take the whole bunker down?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Riiiiight."

"It's a good thing you're cute," Rachel said, chuckling. "Goodnight, Moose."

"Hey," Sam said, poking her. "Be nice to me."

"Or what?" Sam tickled Rachel near her ribs, making her squeak. "Stop!" she protested through a laugh.

With a hearty chuckle, Sam stopped, drawing her close. "How'd I get so lucky?" he asked, sobering as he looked down at Rachel.

"Funny," Rachel said before they kissed, "I was just wondering the same thing."

* * *

Sam woke the next morning, the room still fairly dark, though light filtered in through the cracks of the doorway. Rachel was gone, the sheets on her side cool to the touch. He blinked slowly, feeling drugged as he tried to focus on the room around him. When was the last time he slept that well? He wasn't even sure. Far too long. Still, the emptiness beside him took away the pleasure, wanting nothing more in that moment than to cuddle with Rachel.

He stood with a stretch, enjoying the rest he felt in his body for a change. Digging through his clothes, he scraped an outfit together, just finishing threading and buckling his belt when his phone rang. He picked it up, seeing Dean's name. "Hey," he said.

"'Morning, Princess," Dean teased. Sam could hear he was driving. "Your girlfriend and I are running away together, so have a nice life."

Sam smirked, shaking his head. "She's not insane, Dean," he quipped.

"Yeah, well, tell her that."

Sam heard the phone being tossed. "Sammy?" Rachel said. "It's true. We're madly in love."

Putting the phone on speaker, Sam laughed and tugged a tee shirt over his head. "You'll come to your senses eventually," he replied, picking up the phone and heading into the kitchen.

"Not too sure about that. He promised me bacon."

Sam took the phone off of speaker, holding it to his ear. "Ah. Damn. I lost you for good, didn't I?"

"Pretty much. But we still feel sorry for you, so what do you want for breakfast?"

"An egg white omelette with kale, please."

"Would you like a side of responsibility to go with that?"

Sam laughed. "I'm trying to be healthy."

"Are you?" a man's voice asked next to Sam with snark. "Could've fooled me."

Sam jumped, turning toward the voice. He swallowed, eyes widening as he faced its owner. "Sam?" he heard Rachel ask on the phone.

"Yeah," Sam managed to her, "I'll, uh, see you when you get back." With a shaky hand, he hung up the phone, staring venomously at the man in front of him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Lucifer fake frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, come on, Sam. What, I can't even visit now? After all, I just wanted to see how Mommy and Junior were doing."

"Get. Out," Sam warned, nostrils flared.

"So, that's how you treat me, huh?" Lucifer sighed. "Kids these days. Give 'em everything they ask for, and what do they do? Treat you like crap."

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sam demanded.

"Well, I mean … it wasn't really that hard. Not warded against angels, remember?"

"So why just show up now?"

Lucifer shrugged. "I've been busy. You know, plotting the demise of an entire earth takes a lot of work. Not something you just throw together." He sighed. "Gotta say, I'm a little sad I won't be seeing Rach today." He leaned in, smirking. "I hear she's a stone cold fox." He paused. "She could _really be_ stone cold. You know, if attitudes don't change."

"I've done what you wanted," Sam growled.

"And you're such a good little boy for it," Lucifer patronized with a contented sigh. "You're making America great again, Sammy. Tides are turning, thanks to my dashing new sidekick." He grinned. "I just love the look on their stupid rebel faces right before you kill 'em. It's fantastic. And when Junior gets going?" Lucifer clapped his hands together. "Whoo-boy. Can't wait."

Sam stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. "You listen to me: You won't be going anywhere near Rachel or my son."

Lucifer's brow wrinkled as he scoffed. "I'm practically the kid's grandfather at this point, don't you think?"

"I think you'd better get the hell out of here, right now."

"Well, I'm hurt, Sam," Lucifer said, feigning shock. "I mean, gosh. Here I am, thinking we could be one big happy family, and you're over here all indignant. But don't worry." He held up his hands. "I won't be around when Deano gets back. I like a good surprise just as much as anyone, but I need the stakes a little higher first." He sighed, leaning against the kitchen table as he looked around. "You know, this place hasn't changed in forever. I mean, you guys have a woman living here, and it still looks like a concrete bachelor pad. Not very child-friendly either. You might want to work on that before the big day. Don't want Junior hurting himself." Lucifer rolled his eyes when he saw Sam's hard glare. "Fine, I'll go. I can tell when I'm not wanted. Just remember though," he said, his tone a little cooler, "a positive attitude goes a long way for keeping relationships … alive." As he took a step away, he stopped. "Oh, and I meant to ask you—how'd you like that gift I sent last night, eh?" He held up his hands expectantly, waiting for Sam's reply. Sam stared back at him in disgust. "Oh, come on!" Exasperated, they flopped to his sides. "I know you had to be starving. I mean, a nice, fresh meal you barely had to work for? I'm better than GrubHub! You're probably feeling great this morning, so—" He winked. "—you're welcome."

"I didn't agree to any of _this_ ," Sam snarled.

"But you _did_ agree to work with me, and I need _you_ to keep your mojo going. So, don't mention it." As he turned away, he added over his shoulder, "Oh, and uh … tell the tyke Grampy is excited to meet him. His mom too. Mee-oww."

Lucifer disappeared. Alone, Sam fumed, slamming his fist onto the kitchen table. With Lucifer waltzing into the bunker, it was all too close now. If Sam thought dodging last night's bullet was bad, this was far, far worse. With a heavy sigh, Sam sat at the table, burying his face in his hands. There was no way to back out of this now. Too much was at stake. He was in too deep. Still, how could he keep going?


	22. Chapter 22

**_S13 E20 "Unfinished Business" Weave (only slight spoilers this chapter)  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

It wasn't long until the bunker door opened, Dean and Rachel descending down the stairs and into the kitchen with two bags. "Hey, babe," Rachel said, distracted as she set the one she was carrying down. "One egg white omelette with kale, perfectly healthy and boring." She took out the Styrofoam container, setting it down in front of him as Dean came in, setting his bag down.

"And bacon for us," Dean finished with a contented sigh. "Don't even think about stealing any."

Rachel looked at Sam, who managed a meager smile. "What's wrong?" she asked, brushing his hair aside.

Sam stood, wrapping his arms around her and crushing his mouth to hers. He swallowed her soft moan, threading his fingers through her hair. "You know I love you, right?" he asked when they parted, unconcerned Dean was there and making a face of disgust behind them.

"Of course I do," Rachel replied as she scanned his eyes. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, giving her another kiss before she could ask again. "I just … I wanted to make sure you knew that."

"Duh," she smirked. "Bad dream?" she asked gently, knowingly.

Sam forced a smile. "Yeah, bad dream."

"Dude," Dean said, "you know we were just kidding, right?" He gestured to Rachel. "Because, gross." Rachel shot him a look, which sent Dean backpedaling. "Not that _you're_ gross, because you're freaking hot."

"That's my pregnant girlfriend, Dean," Sam scoffed, turning to him.

"I know," Dean stammered. "I just meant that … her and me … it would be gross because …" He sighed, seeing their mutually arched brows. "Hell, sleeping with her would be like nailing my weirdly hot non-sister sister."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "That whole image just … Yeah, no. I don't want to think about that."

"I'm not _that_ repulsive," Dean grumbled.

"You are when you're my boyfriend's brother."

"Hey, I'm a catch."

"Sure. Just nothing I want to catch."

Dean made a face at her. "Why don't you go make some chick friends or something for me, huh? I bought you bacon."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Because I always had girls lined up to be my friend. Sorry, Dean. You're screwed."

With a grumble, Dean sat and snagged the container of bacon. "Mine," he said, chewing on a piece as he narrowed his eyes at her.

Rachel wasn't impressed. "Remember what I said I can do with a knife if you touched my chocolate? It's even worse with bacon. Share."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said in immediate surrender, pushing the container forward. "Pregnant women are scary."

Sam sighed and took Rachel's hand, clinging to it as he sat, pulling her to sit next to him. He only let it go when he saw how Rachel was waiting to eat. "Sorry," he laughed, his hands moving to open his omelette box. He stared at the meal, his stomach sick as he thought about how close Lucifer had been to the only place that he could keep Rachel and his son safe. Despite his growing power, he was still no match for him.

"Ooh," Rachel said, covering her mouth as she chewed on a piece of bacon. "Jody called last night."

"'Bout what?" Dean asked.

"She had a lead on potential demon activity a couple hours from here." Rachel sliced into her pancakes, taking a hearty bite. "She said five vessels were found in a warehouse in Douglas County. Cause of death was determined to be heart attacks."

"For all of them?"

"Yep." She held her finger up, finishing another bite before continuing. "But, Jody said some hunters who investigated found sulfur everywhere. So it definitely was demon activity. Whoever ganked them has some serious power. No weapon wounds or blood found on the site at all."

"An exorcism?"

"Yeah, but you ever heard of five demons lining up to get damned back to hell? There weren't any sigils or traps."

"It's probably nothing," Sam shrugged, casually cutting into his omelette. "I mean, obviously they're battling for territory after Asmodeus. We've got to focus on Gabriel."

"But whoever's got that kind of juice is pretty close to home," Dean argued. "Not exactly something we should ignore, if another clown is trying to take over."

"So, we leave after breakfast?" Rachel asked.

Sam laughed. "Oh, no. There's no way in hell you're coming."

"Excuse me?"

"Demons, Rachel. We're talking potential demons."

Rachel's eyes narrowed at him. "Sam, I'm going, because if I don't get out of this damn bunker and going on a damn hunt, I _will_ go insane."

Sam's jaw hung open. "No!" he scoffed. "This is _way_ beyond a Salt and Burn."

"You can't keep me in here for the rest of my life!" Rachel argued.

"I'm not saying that—"

"Then I'm going."

Sam gritted his teeth, looking to his brother. "Dean, tell her it's insane."

Rachel focused on Dean with a narrowed gaze. "Dean, tell him that I'm going."

Dean's eyes widened as he looked between them. "Nope," he said, chewing his bacon. "Not getting in the middle of this clusterfuck."

Rachel rolled her eyes, looking back at Sam and leaning in. "You listen to me, Moose: I'm currently thirteen out of forty weeks pregnant with your child, and I'm already climbing the walls from the house arrest you've got me under. Pretty soon, I'll be sitting around here waiting to push a human— _your human—_ out of my vagina, so I'm coming with you on as many hunts as I can, and you're dealing with it."

With a deep breath, Sam stared at her, his fist tightening around his fork. He knew she wasn't kidding, and that she'd likely find her own way to the warehouse regardless. At least if she was with him, he could keep her safe. His nostrils flared as he pointed his finger at her, his stomach sick with her insistence. "You stay close and listen to me, or I'll cuff you to me."

Rachel was clearly not amused. "I'll agree to be reasonably cautious, if you agree to stop treating me like a prisoner."

"Fine," Sam grumbled. "But I _will_ cuff you if I need to."

Dean bit into a crunchy bit of bacon, watching them. "Well, now, that's a healthy relationship right there." He finished chewing, standing up. "Be ready to go in five minutes, kids."

Rachel watched as he left, glancing to Sam, who looked ready to break something. She knew it was a tall order to ask him to take her along, but after last night, she had to hunt. Pregnant or not, she couldn't bare another minute alone in the bunker.

Opting to keep quiet, Rachel stood and left to get her gun in their room. As she strapped on her holster, she heard Sam approach behind her. His hands slid over her hips, pulling her back to his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck. "Are you sure I can't convince you that this is a bad idea?" he asked softly.

"Sammy." Rachel sighed, turning to him. She stroked his cheek. "I need to do this. I can't … I can't be here, alone. Not now. I just … I need this. Please try to understand."

He nodded. "I know, baby. It just scares the ever living shit out of me."

"I'll be fine," she assured. "Like you said, it's probably nothing. Not anymore anyway."

Sam forced a small smile. "Yeah," he replied, his voice breaking a little. "Probably not."

With force, a vision struck Rachel, nearly knocking her over with its intensity. She moaned, sinking to her knees, her gun falling to the floor below as Sam knelt beside her. "Rachel!" he urged, holding her steady, watching her face twist with her grimace. "Rachel, talk to me!" Still, she couldn't-the vision was far too strong to split her focus between it and words:

A tall man with reddish blonde hair in a leather jacket stumbled down a dark alleyway, clutching a bottle in his thick hand. He nursed it, sighing as he looked around the dark space. She couldn't tell why he was suddenly surprised-all she saw was his angry, focused glare as he studied something in front of him, almost as if he were looking at her. An opponent, perhaps. The man strutted forward, tossing the empty bottle to the ground with a sneer. She couldn't hear the words spoken, nor could she see who he was speaking to, but whatever was said made his face turn from a rough and tumble man's to a glowing green of what looked like a dog or a werewolf. In the next blip, she saw long claws extending out from his normal human hands, a growl piercing the air. In the next flash, he fell to the ground, blood pouring out from a large wound that cut straight through his body.

Sam cupped her cheeks, feeling helpless as Rachel struggled under the intensity of the vision. "Baby," he whispered, hopeful when he saw her begin to relax. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel managed after a moment, wetting her lips as she focused on Sam's tee shirt.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"I don't think I really know," she replied. "I think it was a werewolf dying or something. But it was all one-sided, like I was in front of him. I only saw the wolf-dude, not who he was fighting with or how he was killed."

"But he died?"

"Yeah. Something went clean through him." Rachel looked up at Sam's eyes. "It was weird. His face glowed green with the features of a dog-like creature."

Sam helped Rachel to stand, steadying her. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, running his fingers over her forehead and down her cheek.

She nodded; her head felt like it was splitting in half. "No," she admitted.

"Cas!" Sam called, looking over his shoulder and around the empty space behind them. "Can you-"

Cas appeared behind Rachel, making both her and Sam turn and jump in surprise. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice sounding desperate. "Is it the baby?"

"No," Sam replied. "Rachel just had a vision."

With a soft nod, Castiel pressed his fingers to Rachel's forehead, taking the painful throbbing away. "Thank you," she whispered in relief.

"Of course." Castiel paused, looking over his shoulder. "Now Dean's calling? Strange."

Before Sam could ask about what, Castiel disappeared. He took Rachel's hand, leading her out into the library, where they heard Dean and Castiel talking. "Sammy," Dean said when he spotted them, "we've got to skip Douglas County. Rowena just called and said she's got a spell that can help us track Gabriel through his mojo or something."

Sam's brow rose. "Really?"

"Yep."

"And Rachel had a vision," Sam said with a soft sigh. "Not sure what it's related to, though."

Dean looked to Rachel. "What was it about?"

She shrugged. "I guess it was a werewolf getting killed in an alleyway. But the wolf seemed pretty powerful."

"Did you see who ganked him?"

"No. It was one-sided, which was weird. It was as if I were the one facing off with it."

"Huh." Dean pursed his lips. "We'll have to see where it fits in."

"So, Rowena's coming here?" Sam asked, brow arched.

"Yeah. She's on her-"

All four turned in surprise when Rowena appeared with a smile. "Hello, boys," she said, pausing in confusion when she saw Rachel. "Well, who do we have here, then?" she asked, her smiling widening in astonishment as she stepped closer, her red locks cascading over her tiny shoulders.

"I'm Rachel Lentz," Rachel replied softly, feeling a certain hesitance as she held out her hand, regretting the form fitting knit gray top she was wearing that did little to conceal her small baby bump.

"Aren't you a beauty," Rowena murmured, bridging the gap between them, her heels clicking on the floor as her skirt swept against her ankles. She took Rachel's hand into her own, giving it a gentle shake. "My name is Rowena MacLeod." Her painted lips curled up as she released her grip. "Samuel made no mention of his good fortunes when I last saw him."

"I thought it best to keep my pregnant girlfriend out of the picture while you had me tied up, ready to kill me," Sam replied flatly.

Rowena laughed. "Yes, now water under the bridge."

Rachel's eyes widened, looking to Sam. "You never told me about this," she said.

"It was when I said we were after a shifter." He winced under her harsh glare. "We had to track the killings, and I didn't want to worry you."

"You could've just told me the truth," Rachel spat.

Sam swallowed, pained at her cool expression. "Rachel, I-"

Before they could continue, Rowena's eyes widened, clearly impressed as she studied Rachel's stomach, her hand hovering in front of it. "And the wee one's got quite a bit of power too," she noted with a giggle. "What pure barry! The little lad's sure to ruffle some regal feathers both upstairs and downstairs."

Rachel's lips parted. "How did you know about Sam and I … and the baby …?"

"I'm a witch, dear," Rowena said matter of factly. "If I couldn't see it all, I might as well be blind." She turned to Dean. "So you'd like me to use Gabriel's essence to track him, would ya?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "I'm afraid to ask what his 'essence' is."

Rowena didn't seem concerned; she laid her bag down on the desk in front of her with a small smile. "For the spell, I'm going to need a bit of bindweed, Devil's bit, and Yarrow."

"I'll go get the herbs," Rachel said quickly, feeling the incredible need to break away from Sam. She knew he sensed it, too, seeing the guilt in his eyes, and feeling his gaze linger on her as she made her way to the archives.

"Thank you," Rowena replied with a smile. "Oh, and Sam-I'll need a glass of bourbon."

"Bourbon?" he asked, turning back to her.

Rowena winked. "A girl's got to indulge."

Sam forced a smile. "Right." He cleared his throat, slipping into the kitchen. His stomach felt sick as he thought about how mad Rachel was for the small lie. What would she do when she found out the big one?

He drew in a deep breath. She couldn't find out-no matter what. He'd lose her forever.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Hey readers:_**

 ** _I am going to keep writing this story, but as an FYI, real life is kind of in shambles right now for me. So I will be updating (because writing this is like a weird therapy), I just can't promise as uber frequently as I have been._**

 ** _If you're liking what you're reading, leave me a note. Trust me, it would be truly appreciated to hear ANY feedback you have. I value my readers and their opinions a lot. :)_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E20 "Unfinished Business" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Dean, Sam, and Rachel—much to Sam's chagrin—found themselves in a tacky motel in Central City, Colorado after Rowena worked her spell. Sam sighed heavily as he unzipped his travel bag, Rachel alongside him as she fiddled with her bag's strap. The awkward, frustrated tension between them had long lasted since the bunker, Sam only digging himself in deeper on their way to Colorado by trying to defend his lie. After that, Rachel refused to talk to him, and now it seemed as if she was leery about sharing a bed with him.

"Yeah, no," Dean said on the phone across from them, talking to Castiel as Sam began to unpack his bag. "We just got in. Mmm-hmm." Dean stopped, pulling the phone away a little as he looked at Sam. "What are you doing? Don't unpack. No, no," Dean objected to Sam, who looked at him with a confused expression. "Hey, hell no." Dean paused. "Not you," he said to Castiel on the phone. "Just call us when you get to Amarillo, alright?" Dean hung up his phone, looking to Sam. "Alright, look, Rowena's spell said that Gabriel would be here."

"Yeah," Sam replied with a sigh. "Here, or in Texas."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, she tracked his essence—which, gross—to both places. So, Cas is going to hit up the Lone Star State in a few hours, and we will check this place out."

"Okay," Sam said with a bit of impatience, "and that could take some time."

Rachel watched in silence as Sam sat on the end of their bed. A bit of guilt bloomed within as she studied him from behind. He seemed incredibly tense, as if he were nursing a deep ache.

"Which we don't have. Look," Dean said to his brother, "I know you know we've been following leads for the past two weeks. We have nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, Mom and Jack, they could be hurt, or worse … and we're stuck here in this stupid motel room—" Dean kicked the foot of Sam's and Rachel's bed. "—doing—"

All three looked at the bed in surprise when it began to vibrate. Sam and Rachel got up quickly while Dean evaluated the discovery. He kicked the bed again, and the vibrating stopped. "Bonus," Dean said, pointing to it. Sam eyed him with a look of questioning.

"Yeah, no," Rachel disagreed.

Dean shrugged to her. "Fine. You two party poopers can have the other bed."

"Just … don't do anything gross."

"Oh, right." Dean smirked at her. "This is your first time sharing a room with us." He chuckled.

"What are you implying?" Rachel asked, nose wrinkled.

Sam took his bag and tossed it on the other bed, taking up Rachel's next. "You don't want to know," he replied to her, laying it down with a flop next to his.

"You're right," she sighed, sitting on their new bed. "I don't."

Sam turned to Dean. "All I'm saying is that this might take more time than you think."

"Yeah, well I don't have unlimited time for looking for some runaway, dumbass archangel who doesn't want to be found."

A knock came at their door, and all three looked to it. Dean drew his weapon, Sam gesturing for Rachel to stay put as she took out her own gun. Sam felt for his, realizing he didn't have it. Instead, he opted to be the door opener. Both Dean and Rachel aimed quickly when Sam threw open their door, everyone surprised to see a bloodied Gabriel hunched over in the threshold. "Hey, fellas," he managed with a small smile. "And lady," he added with a wide grin as he looked to Rachel. He returned his focus to Sam and Dean. "Looking for me?"

Rachel lowered her gun as Dean lowered his, Sam shutting the door after Gabriel shuffled in. "What the hell happened to you?" Rachel asked.

Gabriel didn't answer; instead, he flopped onto the couch across from her, groaning as he held his side. Sam retrieved the first aid kit from their supplies, opening it and resting it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He readied some disinfectant, gauze, and tape in silence, Rachel watching as he moved with diligent expertise.

With a swallow, Sam moved to Gabriel, cleaning the wound. Gabriel inhaled sharply, grunting against the ache from the alcohol. Sam worked in near silence, methodical yet careful as he positioned the bandage over Gabriel's deep slices in his abdomen. "Alright, this is gonna hurt a little bit," Sam warned. His long fingers pressed the white pad of fabric in place, wincing at Gabriel's reaction.

"A little?" Gabriel asked incredulously, his voice strained. He groaned as Sam finished sealing the wound, his head flopping back against the couch as Sam moved away and wiped his hands off.

"How'd you know we were here?" Dean asked, observing from the far corner with his hands folded over his chest.

"Come on," Gabriel replied with a huff, "I felt your witch's tracking spell the second she laid it on me." He tried to reposition himself, groaning. "Tasted like haggis," he added with a wrinkled look.

"So, now you're in trouble," Sam concluded as he wiped his hands.

"What gave you that idea?" Gabriel asked, feigning innocence. Sam cocked his head to the side with an unamused look, the towel dropping to the floor.

"You show up on our doorstep, bleeding like a stuck pig," Dean argued, turning away from him to check the peephole on the motel room door.

"This?" Gabriel asked, gesturing to his wound. "Eh, you know … you roll into town for a little R and R, stumble into the wrong poker game, take a guy's money … his wife … things get messy."

"You're trying to tell us you came _here_ for a little R and R?" Sam added in disbelief.

"Yeah this place isn't exactly the Rivera," Dean chimed in.

"Hell, it's not even a discount version," Rachel muttered.

"I know, right?" Gabriel agreed. "Huh. So anyway," he said, looking at the brothers, "I don't suppose you guys have any more of my grace laying around, right? 'Cause, uh, the tank's a little low."

"Oh," Sam said, brow wrinkled, "did you drain it killing Asmodeus?"

Gabriel nodded. "And ditching you." He didn't miss Sam's reaction. "It'll charge … eventually. But, uh, until then …" Gabriel looked at the brothers with a hopeful expression.

"Whatever we didn't use on you, we used to open up a rift," Dean explained.

Gabriel was obviously surprised. "Cool," he said, eyes widened. "Superdupes. Okay, well in that case then, gentlemen—" He paused, looking to Rachel. "—and lady." He smirked. "The offer still stands, by the way," he added to her with a wink. Then he turned back to the brothers. "I wish you a fond adi—" He attempted to stand, groaning under the intense pain and quickly changing course. "Yeah, nope. Maybe after a little siesta," he said through a moan. He repositioned himself on the couch, laying back. "Whoa. Aw, aw crap."

Sam glanced back at Dean, who threw his arms in the air. "Fantastic," Dean muttered, stalking off toward his bed and flopping back on it.

Sam stood, his eyes meeting Rachel's from across the way. "Can we talk?" he asked quietly.

Rachel gave him a small nod, zipping her hoodie up and slipping out of the front door, Sam following as he shrugged on his jacket, making sure the room was unlocked before shutting the door. He looked down at Rachel, who hugged herself against the nippy air. Sam quickly took off his jacket and put it on her, tightening it around the front as he stepped closer. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth," he began, watching as she kept her focus on his blue plaid shirt. "I was scared. I didn't … I didn't want the wrong people knowing about you, or our son."

Rachel met his eyes, seeing the stress in them. "You could've told _me_ the truth, even if you kept it from them."

He nodded. "I know. And I realize that now." He shut his eyes with a heavy sigh. "I just don't want you to feel like it's you I don't trust."

"Telling me you're going to cuff me to yourself if I don't listen isn't exactly showing that."

"Can't you see how I'm just a _little_ concerned for you and our child?" Sam asked, his tone shifting and darkening unexpectedly. "All I'm trying to do here is keep you both alive."

"Well, I'd rather be dead and know you're honest with me," Rachel shot back. "Sam, I need to trust you, but it's not exactly easy. You've been keeping vital information from me since the very beginning of our relationship."

"To protect you," he argued.

"Or is it to protect _you_?" she countered, stepping closer. "Because I can't see how lying to me is protecting me at all. In fact, all it's doing is making me resent you."

Sam stiffened as he looked down at Rachel. "So, you resent me now?"

"I resent that you feel the need to lie to me."

He scoffed, looking away. "I told you, it was to protect you, and Robbie."

Rachel shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, well … then don't protect us anymore, okay?"

She shrugged off Sam's jacket, throwing it back at him with gritted teeth. Sam grimaced as she knocked by him on her way back into the motel, the door slamming behind him. He swiped at his face, his fingers tightening into fists as he stared out at the parking lot. His breath quickened as a sickening flowed through him, spiked by their confrontation. With a glance over his shoulder, he fished out a flask from his interior jacket pocket, grateful Rachel didn't feel it when she wore it. Uncapping it, he took a long swig, sighing in relief after. He licked his lips, a tremble running through him as he took another pull. Guilt immediately flooded him, the voices in his head relentless. No matter what he tried, he couldn't quiet them. With shaking hands, he recapped the flask and tucked it away, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to even his breathing.

Sam returned to the room, spotting Rachel curled up on a cushioned chair, her bag next to it. He drew in a deep breath, approaching her. "Take the bed," he murmured, still a little agitated, keeping a bit of distance.

"I'm fine here," she insisted.

"Please." Sam ran his hand through his hair. "Take the bed." Rachel's eyes met his; Sam's stomach knotted as he searched them. "You need it more than I do."

The longer she looked into Sam's eyes, the harder Rachel found it to stay angry at him. He was always her peace, but for the last few weeks, he had also been bursts of chaos. He deserved her cold shoulder for a while longer. Keeping her in the dark wasn't fair, nor was it what she wanted in their relationship. There was something still aching in him, and knowing he didn't reveal it to her stirred up her resentment once again.

As she settled in against the headboard, Rachel flicked her eyes up toward where Sam sat, studying the angles of his broad back and shoulders. Guilt gnawed at her, seeing the way her admission deflated him. Saying she resented him didn't come easily—in fact, it was one of the hardest things she had to do in a long time. Yet, it had to be said. It was the truth. The only unanswered question she was left with was whether or not her resentment was from his lies, or from the child she now carried.

Their earlier conversation about baby supplies and a nursery frightened her. Reality had figuratively smacked her in the face, making her realize that her life was soon to be forever changed. Her identity, her existence, everything about her was now centered around the baby growing in her. Did she hate their child for robbing her of the life she made for herself? It seemed unfair, to hate something so tiny, so innocent. Still, if it weren't for the baby … Rachel swallowed, blinking hard. She couldn't finish that thought.

Sam was both surprised and relieved when she stood and moved her bag next to the bed, sitting on the mattress after. He wanted to be there with her, to wrap his arms around her and come clean, but he couldn't—not after what he did. With a soft exhale, he sat in the chair she had occupied, it still warm from her body heat. Her scent lingered, though he swore he could pick it out from a mile away. It was a lifeline he kept close, clinging to it through the storm of his mind.

To hear she resented him made him wild. He felt feral, as if he didn't know how to process the emotions her admission stirred in him. To some extent, he knew he should've expected it, but it didn't make the bitter pill any easier to swallow. Sam stole a glance at Rachel, finding her sitting with her back against the headboard, looking at her phone with her legs tucked and folded under her. Her curved stomach was perfectly highlighted between them; he stared at it, trying to bite back the tears. He had to keep it together. If she got wind of the truth, he'd never hold her again, or the baby growing inside of her.

"Sammy," Dean said, breaking Sam out of his thoughts. "We gotta talk about our feathered friend."

Sam watched as Dean sat at the small wooden table set across from him. He got up, taking a seat at it with him. "His grace is going to take some time to charge," Sam began.

"Think he'll come around?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "It's not like he's really changed since he left the bunker. Until his grace levels come back up, I just …" He sighed, looking at the sleeping angel. "I don't get it."

Dean's expression tightened. "Yeah, well, right now, don't care. He's here, and we're gonna keep him here."

Both brothers looked over to Gabriel as he sat up with a sharp breath. "Where?! Where am I?" Gabriel paused, looking at them. "Oh, right. You." He groaned as he adjusted in his seat, glancing over to Rachel, who watched him with an arched brow. "'Least you guys have improved your posse with her," he smirked.

Sam stood. "Gabriel, look—we don't really know what's going on here—"

"We need your help," Dean interrupted, eyeing the archangel.

"Uh, yeah," Gabriel said with hesitance, "I'm not a big joiner."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "Oh, so you got better things to do than save the world?"

Gabriel nodded. "Exactly."

"Such as?" Rachel asked.

"Well, one of them would be figuring out how to get you to dump Gigantor," he smirked. He turned back to the brothers, finding Dean standing with a hardened expression, and Sam less than amused. "Look, this has been …" He groaned as he stood. "... great. A real thrill. But, uh, I just came here for the silver stuff." Gabriel took up his jacket, walking to the door. "And since you three are fresh out, it's time for me to say sayonara."

The door burst open, revealing a shorter young man in a green plaid suit, and a bigger buzzed hair man in a leather jacket. Rachel stood quickly from the bed, seeing Sam's hand stretch out behind himself toward her as he studied the intruders.

"Raspberries," Gabriel sighed.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Hey readers:_**

 ** _If you're liking what you're reading, leave me a note. Trust me, it would be truly appreciated to hear ANY feedback you have. I value my readers and their opinions a lot. :)_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E20 "Unfinished Business" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

The two men stepped in, eyeing the brothers. "We're here for the angel," the bigger one said. His face glowed with a green outline of a dog-like creature, along with the smaller man's in a different silhouette. Rachel's lips parted; it was just like the one she saw in her vision. The smaller one carried a thick whip with several braided cords.

"The hell are you guys?" Dean asked. "The hell are these guys?" he repeated to Gabriel.

"Oh, just a couple of Norse demigods," Gabriel explained.

"Demigods?!" Sam asked.

The smaller one in the suit went for Gabriel, and Dean shot at him, his gun quickly whipped away by the braided cord.

"Rachel, run!" Sam shouted just before the bigger of the two lunged for him.

"Sam!" Rachel screamed, protesting Gabriel's grip as he dragged her into the bathroom, watching as the bigger man grabbed Sam by the throat and pressed him to the damask wallpapered wall with a hard thud. She clawed at Gabriel, trying to bust past him. "Let me out!" she growled as she saw him watch in what looked to be like fear. "Gabriel, now!"

The smaller one whipped at Dean, who shielded himself with a wooden chair. "Gabriel! A little help in here!" Dean shouted. He glanced over to Sam, seeing him struggle in a choke hold. "Sammy!"

Rachel pushed past Gabriel with a heavy shove, immediately latching onto the bigger man's leather jacket. She groaned as she tried to pull him off Sam, the man nearly impossible to move. The man turned and looked back at her with a sneer, tossing her off of himself easily against the bureau. Rachel's head and back slammed against it, before she fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Rachel!" Sam strained, pawing at the thick arm around his neck, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Dean tried to throw the chair at the smaller man, but he kept whipping at him, knocking away the table between them. The chair Dean had been using slid in front of the bathroom, where Gabriel was still hiding. Dean managed to flip the smaller man over, temporarily disabling him. He looked back to his brother, jumping when he hear a cracking sound. Gabriel shoved one of the table legs clean through the bigger man, effectively killing him. Sam was released; he gasped for air, standing on shaky feet as Gabriel withdrew the weapon. "Hiya, handsome," Gabriel smirked to the younger one, who stood with wide eyes. "Ready to die?"

The young man ran; Gabriel huffed, clutching his side. "You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded, breathy. "I'll go after him in a sec. I just … need a minute."

"Wrong," Dean replied, showing Gabriel their sigil cuffs. "You're not going anywhere."

"Rachel," Sam breathed, regaining his awareness as Dean cuffed Gabriel. He spun around, finding her stirring on the floor. "Shit!" He rushed to her, sinking to his knees as he helped her sit up. "Baby, talk to me," he urged, looking at the small gash on her head. "Dammit. Rachel, say something."

Rachel blinked heavily, focusing on Sam through her crooked glasses. "Sam," she whispered, wincing. "Stop yelling."

Sam stood, his own breath a little shaky as he lifted her to her feet. He guided Rachel to sit on the end of the bed, taking her glasses off and sitting next to her. Examining the lump near the gash on her forehead, he brushed her hair from her face. "Fuck," he cursed softly, seeing how it was already bruising. "Stay here." He rushed to get their medical supplies, bringing the kit over and taking out the small pocket flashlight from it. He clicked it on and shone it in her eyes. "Well, at least your eyes are dilating," he murmured, tossing it back in and soaking a cotton ball in disinfectant. He gently dabbed at her wound, seeing how her brow wrinkled a little from the contact. "Sorry," he apologized, feeling entirely too clumsy in the moment.

"It's okay, Sam," Rachel assured, wetting her lips as he tended to her. "Really, I'm fine."

"Any pain? Any at all?" he asked, his gaze flicking over her and settling on her womb for a moment.

"My back hurts. Head too. He's fine, though."

Sam could only nod, focusing on applying the butterfly bandage at Rachel's temple with careful precision.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean called over to her, watching Sam patch her up. "You okay?"

"I'm good," she replied. "Just a knot and some bruises."

Dean came over, examining her forehead. "Yeah, well, that was a demigod that tossed you, and you're carrying precious cargo." He looked to Sam. "Get her to an ER," he murmured to him, giving Rachel's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Rachel shook her head. "No, I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm not going to the hospital."

"Rachel—"

"Not. Going." She put her glasses back on and looked between the brothers. "We need to get rid of the body and grill Gabriel."

"I vote she does the grilling," Gabriel suggested from across the way, wagging his brows.

"Yeah. Not happening," Rachel replied. "I'm opting for a shower, snacks, and sleep after we get rid of Cujo over here."

"After _we_ get rid of him," Sam corrected, gesturing between himself and Dean. "No heavy lifting for you."

She sighed. "Fine. I'll stay with Mister Friendly."

"Hey, you," Dean said, snapping his fingers to Gabriel. "Is Discount Bieber coming back?"

"Doubt it," Gabriel replied.

Dean turned, looking down at the body. He grumbled, moving toward the door and shrugging on his jacket.

"I don't like you here alone," Sam argued.

"I'll be fine," Rachel insisted.

"What if—"

"Sam. It'll be okay. Go ditch the body."

Sam focused on Rachel as he sat next to her. His fingers brushed across her cheek. She gently leaned into his touch, wanting desperately to reverse their fight. Still, the lies and secrets had to stop, and they wouldn't unless he knew just how much it affected her. "Tell me what's going on," she said, taking hold of his wrist, stroking his forearm exposed by his rolled up sleeve. His tanned skin was warm, the heat calling to her.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam exhaled deeply. He knew if he didn't convince her to wait in this moment, their fight would only get much worse. "I will," he said quietly, running his calloused thumb over her cheek. "When we get back."

Rachel was surprised; still, she hid it from him. "Okay," she agreed, seeing the small smile of relief spread across his face.

Sam leaned in and gave Rachel a tender kiss, sinking his fingers into her hair with a groan. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had an audience, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was her—tasting her, holding her. His tongue begged for entry between her lips, his fingers tightening around her as she granted it.

"No, no," Dean said with thick sarcasm across from them, "by all means, you two have your Hallmark moment. I'll just haul Evil Lassie out of the friggin' room myself."

With a sigh, Sam parted from Rachel, standing. Before he left her, he tucked some of her hair behind her ear, drinking in the feel of it between his fingers. It was always midnight silk, but it felt especially smooth in that moment. Lifting the ends to his nose, he breathed the fragrance in. It smelled incredible. His senses seemed on fire, but they had now for over a month. Every touch, taste, sound, scent, and sight of her burned him like a pleasurable, painful ache, one he couldn't stop wanting. It was an addiction, and it only grew worse with each passing day. He had tried to keep his distance, knowing the shift in his behavior would be evident if he didn't, but it made for a hell of a time trying to be near her without giving in.

Eventually, Sam and Dean left with the body they were tasked with disposing of, leaving her and Gabriel alone. Though she knew Sam had tried to keep his personal shift under wraps, the changes in him were more than evident. And they weren't ones that seemed anywhere near normal. Rachel opened Sam's bag, rifling through it until she produced his tablet. As she took it to the bed, getting settled against the headboard with it, Gabriel watched. "Aw, come on," he said with a pout. "I thought we were gonna spend some quality time together."

"We are," Rachel replied, distracted as she opened a private browsing tab and began plugging in information for her research.

"Oh, so you're just setting the mood, then?

"No. I'm researching."

Gabriel smirked. "You don't have to worry about that, baby. I can teach you everything you need to know."

Rachel looked up at him, brow raised. "You do realize I'm pregnant, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Some guys find it a turn-on."

With a shake of her head, she refocused on the screen in her lap. "I'm with Sam," she murmured, only really half aware of her conversation with Gabriel.

"And how's that working for you?" Gabriel asked.

"What do you mean?"

Gabriel rotated his wrist within the confines of his cuffs. "I'm just saying, you guys moved pretty quickly. Do you really want … all this?"

Rachel paused, keeping her eyes on the tablet. If she was being honest with herself, there was truth to what Gabriel was implying. She had often wrestled with the idea of having a child so suddenly, especially one the magnitude Sam's son was. "I do," she replied softly, typing into the search field.

"Wow. I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. All that gusto sure proved me wrong."

With a scoff, she looked up at the archangel. "It's none of your business what I feel or want," she snapped, agitated.

"Hey, I'm just trying to point out the obvious."

"Which is what, exactly?"

Gabriel gave her a soft smile. "That you're freaking out and having second thoughts about it all."

Rachel wanted to squirm under his cocky, confident look. "You're wrong," she replied. "I'm not."

"Hah!" Gabriel shook his head. "Lying to an archangel? Come on, sugar. I may be running low on the tap, but that doesn't mean I can't hear that pretty little brain of yours."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well, stay out of my brain," she growled.

"Why? Have I hit a nerve?"

She felt her blood pressure rise. "You know, I'm beginning to empathize with the demigods trying to kill you."

"Aw, baby, no need to get nasty." Gabriel wore a smirk Rachel wished she could slap off of his face. "I mean, what you're feeling is understandable. Sam knocked you up unexpectedly, and now you get to sit around for six more months prepping for maternal domestic slavery while he continues living the life he stole from you."

Rachel ground her molars together, begging herself to deny Gabriel's assessment. With each passing second of her silence, though, she merely confirmed it. "That's not what I think," she finally said, looking back down at the tablet. Still, she knew it was far too late to be seen as convincing.

Gabriel nodded, lips pursed. "Suit yourself," he decided with a shrug. "If you want to keep lying to yourself, go ahead."

"Oh really? That's it?" She eyed him. "Yeah right. You're not backing down that easy."

"Well, I mean … I _do_ think it would be a shame to lose you off the free market, but I'd at least be able to accept it if you didn't hold such a grudge with Sam."

"I'm not holding a grudge!" Rachel shouted. "I had sex too, you know. It's not like it's entirely his fault."

"So, having a baby out of guilt is somehow _not_ going to affect everyone involved?"

"Listen to me, Doctor Phil," Rachel snapped, pointing at him. "I need your dime store psychology right now like I need a lobotomy. So, back off, or I'll shoot you."

Gabriel chuckled. "Man, I love it when you get riled. So friggin' hot."

Rachel let out a high pitched groan, grabbing her pillow and chucking it at him. Her frustration only seemed to gode him on more, his laughter rubbing her raw. "Shut it, Fluffy."

As best as she could, Rachel ignored Gabriel as she resumed her search. What could be wrong with Sam? A plague? A curse? He was acting out of character, that much she knew.

 _Or is he?_

She paused, swallowing hard. _What if this is his character, and I'm just finding out? What if I don't know him like I think I do?_


	25. Chapter 25

**_What's up, readers?!_**

 ** _Thank you for your reads and follows!_**

 ** _Leave me some love! Or hate. Theories, ideas, etc. Whatever! ;)_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E20 "Unfinished Business" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

A short while later, the door opened, Sam and Dean walking in. "Thank Chuck," Rachel muttered, quickly clearing her search history on Sam's tablet and pulling up a page on Norse demigod lure to cover her tracks. "I was about to use him for target practice."

"Your girl, Sam," Gabriel said with a click of his tongue. "I gotta say, you might not want to get on her bad side." He paused, contemplating. "Or maybe you do. Could be kinky."

Sam picked up the pillow Rachel had chucked at Gabriel with slight confusion. "If she was going to shoot you, she had a reason."

"Pfft. I was just making conversation. Not my fault she didn't like the topic."

Sam eyed him, tossing the pillow back on the bed. "And what topic would that be?"

"Enough," Rachel snapped, glaring at Gabriel.

He scoffed. "You know, you guys are lucky I'm low on juice, considering what I did to the last guy who locked me up."

"You know what?" Sam asked. "We said we'd let you go-just as soon as you tell us what the hell is going on here."

"Great, he's going to get to talk again," Rachel commented from the bed.

Sam's brow arched at her as he stripped off his jacket and started rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Gabriel shook his head. "Yeah … it, uh … It's not a fun story."

Dean tossed his coat aside. "Well, we just broke into a junkyard and stuffed the body of a demigod in a car crusher. So I think you owe us some answers."

Sam and Dean took a seat in front of him, waiting expectantly for Gabriel to begin. "Okay," Gabriel said with a sigh, "they aren't really demigods." Dean pursed his lips, waving his hand in annoyance. "Look, the Norse pantheon is its own weird thing. Them of 'em more like, uh, god-begotten monsters ..."

Gabriel continued his story, the three listening as he explained himself. Still, by the end, Dean was as frustrated as he was from the start. "You know," he said, none of this would've happened if you had just stuck around and helped us fight Lucifer."

The archangel stood. "Hey, I did help you. 'Casa Erotica?'" he reminded with an expectant look.

"You call that help?" Sam asked.

"I call that art," Gabriel corrected. "But yes, without me, you two chuckleheads never would've known how to throw Lucifer back in the cage."

"But instead of giving us a hand," Dean argued, "you ran. And you just did it again when you ditched us in the bunker."

"Alright, Dean, I have more important things to do than to join your little band of merry men." He paused. "Though it definitely has more appeal with Maid Marion on board."

"Hey, what you're doing? This? This is not important."

"Every day," Gabriel snapped, his voice darkening. "Asmodeus tortured me. Every. Day. He fed off my grace for _years_! He used me, he debased me until I was …" He stopped, panting as he looked between the two brothers. "What I went through," he said after a prolonged pause, "you don't forgive. Everyone who had a hand in it will die. Get me?" he challenged Dean, who looked at him with a stiff glare.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "We do."

Dean sighed. "Okay, you went through it. We get it, alright? But killing Loki? Not gonna change any of that. It's not. In fact, probably not even gonna make you feel better."

"Well," Gabriel said with an irritated huff, "agree to disagree, Dean-o. We _all_ have our demons." He glanced at Sam and Dean, then to Rachel, and back. "Mine are here, in this town."

Sam gave him a small nod. "Okay. But you're low on grace, and Loki knows you're coming."

"Sam," Dean interrupted sternly.

As Dean began to leave the room, Sam watched with a heavy sigh. He followed after his brother, lifting his arms. "What?" he asked as they stepped into the hallway.

"Not like I care about killing gods, okay?" Dean said as he faced him. "But this whole revenge kick? It's a waste of time."

Sam processed what his brother was saying. "What if it's not?" he challenged.

"You've seen it, Sam—with me, with Dad. Revenge only ends one way: Ugly."

Deep down, Sam couldn't help but wonder if Dean was right. Though he couldn't admit it, the idea of exacting revenge on Lucifer for the noose he placed around his neck had crossed his mind multiple times a day. "Well, maybe it doesn't have to."

"Okay," Dean said with a nod, "I think I know what this is."

"Okay, what is it?"

"You." Dean eyed Sam. "You're so hopped up on this 'Kill Bill' fantasy of his."

"No, no, no," Sam objected. "This has nothing to do with me."

"If you had a shot at Lucifer, wouldn't you take it?"

Sam paused, coolness flowing through his veins at the idea. "Of course I would." He saw Dean's expectant look. "But this is about Gabriel. He needs our help."

With a heavy sigh and a subtle eye roll, Dean returned to their room. "Gabriel," Sam began as they approached, "you agree to help us, we'll agree to help you."

Rachel swallowed hard, meeting Sam's eyes briefly. This wasn't an easy, low-risk fight. This was only fragments away from suicide.

"Hmm," Gabriel said, looking between the brothers. "Deal." He turned to Dean. "Lend me some clothes?"

"You planned on coming here for revenge but you didn't take a bag?" Dean asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "Didn't think I'd need them."

With a shake of his head, Dean picked out a couple pieces and threw them at Gabriel. As Gabriel started unbuttoning his shirt, Sam cleared his throat loudly, nodding to Rachel. "Oh, come on," Gabriel laughed. "I don't have anything she hasn't seen before." He smirked. "Or maybe I do."

"Bathroom," Dean ordered, waving him off.

"Bunch of party poopers," Gabriel muttered, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself.

"Guess I'll get some supplies out of the car," Dean said, taking up his army green duffel bag.

"Grab me a box of bullets," Sam said, checking the magazine as he discharged it from his gun's grip.

When the door shut behind Dean, Sam turned and looked at Rachel. "I've been reading up on Norse demigods," she said as he approached. "Wooden stakes or swords are most effective. Or all that are effective." She paused, looking into his eyes as he sat on the edge of the mattress next to her. "These guys are no joke. And if Loki is their father _and_ the original Trickster, he's going to be even worse."

Sam nodded, tucking Rachel's hair behind her ear. "We'll be okay. Dean will have my back."

Rachel's lips parted; she fought the urge to argue with him about letting her come. He had brought her here in the first place. That was more than enough. "Have his too," she said instead.

"Always."

Setting the tablet aside, Rachel took Sam's hand that lingered over her cheek into her own, running her fingers over his toughened skin. "So talk to me. What's been going on?"

With a deep breath, Sam moved a little closer. "Nightmares," he said, looking down. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth. Still, the dreams he had since finding out Robbie was his child were disturbing at best, terrifying at worst.

"What about?"

"You. Robbie. Dean. Cas. Mom. Jack." He sighed. "Everyone. But the most about you and Robbie."

"What happens in them?" Rachel asked gently, still smoothing his skin.

Sam shut his eyes, turning a little away. "Everything. Anything." Rachel watched his jaw tick as he gritted his teeth. "And no matter what I do, I can't stop them. I try, but … they always take you both from me. And I'm never strong enough to save you."

Rachel brushed Sam's hair from his brow. "Well, that's how you know they're just nightmares, then." She smiled when he looked up into her eyes. "Because _you are_ strong enough. And you've never failed me, or our son."

Sam shook his head, bitterness bubbling up from within. "What Arioch did to you …" He scoffed, turning away. "I failed you then. I failed you when Ketch had you. I failed you with Asmodeus. Hell, I failed you tonight."

"None of those things were your fault!"

"They were," Sam argued. "Because I couldn't stop them."

"Sammy," Rachel whispered, turning his face to see his eyes. They were glassy with tears. "You can't stop everything that will ever happen to me or to our son. Some things you just can't help. And it's okay."

"Not when it's your lives." He covered her hand on his cheek with his own. "The closer you are to me, the more I put you at risk." His nostrils flared as he studied her. "And I can't risk either of you. I won't." He brought her knuckles to his lips, deliberately kissing them.

"Yeah, well, it's not up to you what I do," Rachel reminded him. "So if I want to be with you, then you can't stop me." She paused. "Well, I guess you could, but you'd have to not want to be with me. ... Is that what this is?"

"No, no, no," Sam assured. "I just don't want you or Robbie to get hurt."

"Getting hurt is part of life, Sam. It's unavoidable."

"I mean, really hurt … like …"

"Ganked?"

Sam winced. "Yeah. Like that."

Rachel sighed. "Sammy, stop worrying about me so much. You're going to kill yourself over it. And all the kale in the world won't help you."

He laughed. "Baby girl, I'll never stop worrying about you, or our son."

Dean came back in, kicking the motel door shut. Sam turned, watching him. "Bullets," Dean announced, putting the box on the table.

Sam kissed Rachel on the forehead, standing and crossing to the table. "Thanks."

"Everything alright?" Dean asked, playing it casual as he observed.

"Fine," Sam replied, sitting at the table and focusing on loading bullets into his gun's magazine.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, straightening the clothes Dean loaned him. Dean looked up from organizing his duffel bag, watching the archangel cross in front of him. "Alright, Uma," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder, "what's the plan?"

Gabriel sighed. "Well, Sleipnir's a lot of things, but mainly, he is a coward." He opened the chest of swords. "I will bet all the personal lubricant in the SFV that after we killed Narfi, he ran straight back to papa's skirts."

"So he and Loki will be together," Sam concluded. "That's great. How do we find them?"

"They're, uh, about a five minute drive from here. Penthouse of the Ophidian Hotel."

Sam's face wrinkled. "Seriously?"

"You've known this whole time?" Dean asked.

"Sure," Gabriel said casually. "That's what Loki does. He rolls into a dump town, finds the seediest motel, then uses some mojo to give it his patented Cinderella treatment. Loki has his fun, then he moves on. I've been tracking him since Amarillo."

"And you didn't go after him. Why?"

"'Cause that's, uh …" Gabriel paused, seeing the three watching him intently. "For the most satisfying retributive experience, everyone knows you don't take on the Big Bad from the jump. You work up to him, like so." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it to Dean, who unfolded it. Two of four names on it were crossed off.

"What am I looking at here?" Dean asked.

Gabriel's brow shot up. "You've never seen a kill list before? Hmm. Wow. Okay. There's Fenrir, Narfi, Sleipnir, and then, last but not least, Loki. I'm killing all of his sons in order. And then, when he's got nothing left, I take him out."

Dean shook his head. "This is so stupid."

"I actually _really_ agree," Rachel said, standing from the bed and crossing her arms over her chest as she came closer to them.

"Really? Is it?" Gabriel asked incredulously, snatching the paper from Dean. "'Cause let me tell you something, seven years is a long ass time for me to plan my own personal brand of vengeance. So if you guys aren't on board—"

"No, no, no, no," Sam assured, standing with a chuckle that was unsettling to Rachel. "We're on board." He readied his gun. "Right Dean?"

Dean shrugged, giving a grunt. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Gabriel asked; Rachel rolled her eyes as she watched him lean in expectantly.

"Sure," Dean said through a forced smile.

Rachel scoffed, coming to stand next to Dean. "Yeah, well, I still think this is nothing but a testosterone-fueled waste of time."

Gabriel looked to her. "Oh really? And why's that? Is my vendetta not important enough because it's not Sam's or Dean's?"

"No, Fluffy," Rachel snapped. "It's stupid because you three are going to go in there half-cocked, looking for a fight with demigods—one of which happens to be a slimier trickster than _you._ " She eyed Gabriel. "These guys are mortals, and you're low on juice. So tell me how that makes any sense."

Gabriel wet his lips as he let a small laugh escape through them. "Well, thanks for the vote, sweetie, but this really isn't a democracy. So, I don't give a damn."

"Hey," Sam said, his voice taking on a tone of warning.

"I'm fine, Sam," Rachel replied, keeping her focus on Gabriel as she took a step closer. Dean watched carefully as he stood next to her, ready to intercept if needed. "I know you don't give a damn," she continued to Gabriel, eyes narrowed, "but I give a damn about them. So if your stupidity costs them a single cent, you can bet your holy ass I'll be after you with a blade."

Gabriel's smirk did nothing to cool Rachel's jets. "God, I love seeing you ticked off. So friggin' hot."

Sam moved in front of Dean and extended his arm in front of Rachel as she went toward Gabriel, gently taking hold of her. "Easy," he murmured, guiding her to stand next to him. "We'll be fine," he assured quietly.

"You damn well better be," she growled.

"Peachy," Gabriel said with a sigh, his face tightening. "So here's what we're gonna do—we go in, we kill Sleipnir, and then we surprise Big Daddy in the penthouse. Easy peasy like a breezey."

As Gabriel walked away, Rachel shook her head. "I don't like it."

Sam gave her a kiss on the forehead, his hand running over her stomach. "I know," he said. "It'll be okay. We'll be back soon."

With a shorter peck, Sam walked out after Gabriel, Rachel slightly taken back by his hurried pace. Dean sighed and shook his head as he began to follow. Before he could leave the room after them, Rachel grabbed his arm, Dean looking down at her in confusion. "Just … Keep yourselves safe. And keep Sam on a leash." She bit her bottom lip, seeing Dean's eyes searching hers. "I just feel like there's a whole lot Sam isn't saying right now, and this … Rambo plan of Gabriel's has me worried."

Dean's brow raised. "What do you mean about Sam?" he asked.

Rachel was hesitant to answer; she knew that Dean would listen, though. "He just … seems … off. Too eager. Not rational, or methodical, like he usually is." She wet her lips. "It's like he can't help but want to fight. Or hunt. Or …"

"So you've noticed too," Dean murmured. She nodded. "Any clue as to what's going on? Because I'm at a loss."

She sighed. "Me too. He said nightmares are fueling it, but I know there's got to be more to it than that."

Dean nodded, glancing back at the door before returning his focus to her. "Don't worry, kiddo. We'll figure it out. And I'll bring 'em back."

"Yourself too, dummy."

With a pat on the shoulder and a grin, Dean left, closing the motel room door shut behind himself. Rachel stared at the wood for a few moments before glancing back at the bed. "Alright, Robbie," she sighed, "let's distract ourselves while Daddy and Uncle Dean go on a suicide mission."


	26. Chapter 26

**_What's up, readers?!_**

 ** _Thank you for your reads and follows!_**

 ** _Leave me some love! Or hate. Theories, ideas, etc. Whatever! ;)_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E20 "Unfinished Business" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Rachel was more than relieved to see Sam and Dean walk back into the motel room late that night, even if Gabriel was accompanying them. She bolted from the bed where she had busied herself on her phone, rushing to Sam and giving him a hug. "Hey," he said with a soft smile, pulling her close. "You should be sleeping, baby girl."

"Couldn't. I'm just glad you're okay," she breathed, laying her cheek over his jacket against his chest. She paused, pulling away when her face hit something hard. As Gabriel and Dean stripped off their jackets and weapons across from them, Rachel reached into Sam's jacket, withdrawing his flask. "Since when do you carry a flask?" she asked, brow arched.

Sam snagged it from her, wetting his lips. "Just holy water," he said with a smile. "You, uh, can never be too sure."

Rachel searched his eyes, feeling hesitant to accept his answer. "Okay," she murmured, letting herself be led by Sam back to their bed. Rachel watched as he tossed the flask into his bag, then stripped off his jacket. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" Sam asked, pausing as he went to unbutton his shirt. "I'm fine, baby." With a nod, she sat on the mattress and watched him loosen his shirt a bit, gathering some items from his bag. "I'm going to take a quick shower, then I'm holding you," he said, kissing her forehead before he left for the bathroom.

When he shut the door behind himself, Rachel glanced over to the flask she saw peeking out of Sam's open bag. Dean and Gabriel were still very much awake, watching TV, so she wasn't sure if she could get away with taking a look at it. _It's a flask of holy water,_ she reprimanded herself. _You need to trust him. He has no reason to lie. So, stop accusing him._

Sighing heavily, Rachel curled back up into bed, listening to the shower water run as she waited for Sam to be done. She drummed her fingers over her stomach, trying to shake the unsettled feeling she had. Why did things feel so off with Sam lately? Why did he seem to be sneaking around in broad daylight? What would make him do it in the first place? At least she wasn't alone in her assessment—Dean saw the difference too. But what prompted it?

Fifteen minutes later, the bed dipped with Sam's added weight as he slid in next to her. His thick arms surrounded her, drawing her close as he nuzzled her neck from behind. "Tired?" he asked, seeing her stifle a yawn. The room was dark besides the glow of the TV across from them.

"A little," Rachel admitted, relishing the embrace. "Sorry, I didn't even ask. How'd it go?"

Sam smiled. "Fine. You would've heard bitching otherwise, more than likely."

"So, Loki and his other son are dead?"

"Yep."

"And now Gabriel's going to help us?"

"Hopefully, unless he backs out."

"He'd better not, or I'll pluck his feathers out."

Sam laughed, kissing the juncture of Rachel's neck and shoulder. "I have a good feeling about things, don't worry."

"Yeah, well, he's not exactly on my Top Ten list right now."

"Why's that?"

"Other than he's a cocky ass who risked your lives for a personal cause?"

"What did you two talk about that made you so upset?"

Rachel swallowed hard. "Just stuff about … stuff."

"Well," Sam sighed, "now that's incredibly specific."

"He just irritated me," she admitted. "But it's whatever now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

With a lingering kiss to her neck, Sam exhaled deeply, settling his cheek against the pillow above Rachel's shoulder, drawing in the scent of her hair. "Goodnight, baby girl," he murmured, sleep threatening to find him fast.

"'Night, Sammy," she said softly back, snuggling closer in his arms as sleep quickly overcame her.

* * *

With Gabriel on board to help open the rift, the four headed back to Kansas. Rachel was less than thrilled occupying the backseat with Gabriel for the stretch, but she mostly managed to ignore him, choosing to sit in silence, stroking her womb as she watched the scenery pass out her window.

Sam didn't fail to notice Rachel's prolonged silence, or the way she seemed to analyze every little thing he did. He couldn't blame her. He had been suspicious at best, lately. Even he knew that. Still, she couldn't get close to the ugly truth—not until he found a way to fix it. He made the mess, and it was his job alone to clean it up. What he kept from her would only break her, and he wasn't about to destroy two of the people that mattered most to him in the world because of it.

It was late by the time they arrived at the bunker. Still, there seemed to be more arranging to do than ever before. Castiel whisked Gabriel away as soon as they got back, Rowena gave them an update on her studies while she was at the bunker, and Rachel helped her locate the demon tablet.

Satisfied with how everything was going, Dean slipped away into the maps room, pouring himself a drink from a decanter as he sat at the table.

Sam came in with a heavy sigh. "Alright, so Cas is helping Gabriel get settled in, Rowena's boning up on the demon tablet, so once Gabe's grace levels are back up, we … should be good."

"Great," Dean replied with a soft nod, drinking.

Sam watched him for a moment. "Yeah."

"What about Rachel?"

"What about her? She went to bed."

Dean shrugged, remembering his earlier conversation with her. "Just curious." His eyes flicked over Sam. "She's worried about you."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Worried?"

"Yeah. She, uh, doesn't feel like you're being you."

"How so?"

"She thinks you're a bit too Eager Beaver for a hunt these days. You know, kinda how I said I feel too."

"I'm doing my job," Sam scoffed.

"And that's all?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. That's all." Sam narrowed his gaze at Dean as he slowly walked toward the hall. He paused, looking back at his brother, unable to shake his thoughts. "Hey … back at the hotel, why did you go after Loki without us?"

"Saw an opening, so I took it," Dean replied, waving it off with his hand.

"So you left us?"

"You guys were handling those goons just fine." He took a deep breath. "I'd just figured I'd … multitask."

"That's not …" Sam paused, gritting his molars together. "I'm saying this had become a whole thing with you lately."

Dean's brows raised. "A whole thing?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Since the last time we opened up a rift. Since you decided to sideline me and then head to Apocalypse World with Ketch."

"Okay … well, we talked about that."

Sam shook his head. "Did we? Because, I gotta be honest, after everything, you're treating me like I should be back at the kid's table or something. I mean, you want to talk about seeming 'off,' I'd say you ditching me consistently is pretty damn off."

Dean eyed him. "Might I remind you of your pregnant girlfriend, and how I wanted to keep her safe."

"Fine, but that isn't the sole reason, Dean," Sam argued. "Sure, you can use Rachel as a cover, but the fact of the matter is, you're shoving me aside."

"A child," Dean said, leaning forward. "You have a child on the way. _A son._ You're damn right I'm going to make sure his father is alive."

"I can take care of myself," Sam argued. "The question is, do _you_ think I can?"

"Sam, I'm not going to apologize for protecting you, or for trying to keep Rachel and your child safe."

"So that's what you think you're doing here?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, standing and crossing to him. "You remember what happened the last time we had front row tickets to the Lucifer/Michael show?" he asked, eyeing Sam. "'Cause I do." He sat on the edge of the table in front of his brother. "You died. And went to Hell." Sam looked away at the floor. "But see, this time, the apocalypse isn't looking for us. We're actually looking for it." He looked into Sam's eyes. "I don't care what happens to me. I never really have. But I do care about what happens to my brother. I care about what happens to my nephew's father, and how that affects the closest thing I've got to a sister." Dean paused. "I'm not making her a widow, or making your son have one less parent."

Sam looked away with a nod, jaw ticking as he processed Dean's reasoning. He looked back at him. "Dean, we're going to that place and we are going to save Jack and Mom _together._ And … if something happens, we will deal with it _together._ " He turned, stepping toward the hall before pausing. "And if we die?" he asked, looking back at Dean. "We'll do that together too."

Dean watched Sam leave, pained at the idea of risking his brother. He knew deep down, Sam was right, but he never wanted Sam in the crosshairs before, let alone now with Rachel and his son on the way. If something happened to him … Dean gritted his teeth. He couldn't think about that. Sam was determined to be beside him, and he knew it was safer for Sam if he didn't fight it. Still, Rachel carrying his brother's child weighed on him, reminding him of the colossal risk at stake for allowing Sam to go.

Downing the last of his drink, Dean sighed and headed for his room. There wasn't a damn thing more he could do. Sam would have it his way, even if it killed him.


	27. Chapter 27

**_What's up, readers?!_**

 ** _Thank you for your reads and follows!_**

 ** _Leave me some love! Or hate. Theories, ideas, etc. Whatever! ;)_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E21 "Beat The Devil" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

 _Sam, Dean, Rachel, Castiel, Jack, and Mary were gathered around the maps room table, beer bottles and pizza decorating its surface. Everyone watched in amusement and fascination as Dean reached for yet another piece of pizza._

" _Dean, you can't possibly eat another. That's your seventh piece," Castiel said, brows raised._

" _No it's not," Dean insisted while chewing._

" _Castiel's right," Jack said. "I counted."_

" _Okay," Dean said to Jack, pointing, "first, don't be a narc. And secondly, seven pieces is perfectly normal."_

" _Uh," Sam objected, "it's really not."_

 _Mary couldn't conceal her laugh well enough; Rachel held back a giggle of her own. "You're out-eating the pregnant woman," Rachel smirked. "That's pretty impressive."_

" _It's not even a whole pie!" Dean argued._

" _Was he always like this?" Jack asked with a laugh._

 _Mary stood, gathering empty plates. "Even as a baby. John and me, we used to call him our little piglet."_

 _Dean put down his piece of pizza with a scowl. "Alright, I'm done."_

" _With love," Mary insisted, giving him a kiss as she passed._

" _Thanks, Mom," Sam said as he handed Mary his plate. Rachel stood to help, but Sam ushered her to sit. "You know what?" he said, standing. "Let me help you."_

" _You sure?" Rachel asked._

 _He kissed her forehead with a nod. "Rest. In fact, you should have your feet up."_

" _If it were up to you, you'd keep me in bed all the time."_

 _Sam smirked. "What's wrong with that?" He laughed when he saw Rachel's cheek tint, amused by her shyness in front of his mother._

" _You'd better give your girl a massage, Sam," Mary teased as she headed to the kitchen. "I know what it's like carrying a Winchester boy. It's no cakewalk."_

 _Sam grinned, following her with the plates. "After this." He walked with her down the stairs away from the others. "Hey, Mom—how are you holding up? You haven't really said much since you got back. You know—how you're doing, how it was over there, and …"_

 _Mary smiled sadly. "It was hard," she admitted. "But somehow, I always knew that you … you and Dean … would come and save us. And you did."_

 _Sam smiled, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest from his happiness. "Mom?" he asked._

" _Yes Sam?"_

 _Before Sam could reply, Mary kept going. "Sam? Sam? Sam?" It were as if her voice were an unnatural, rhythmic beat. "Sam? Sam? …"_

Sam exhaled sharply, waking from his dream to the blaring of his alarm next to him early in the morning. He groaned, slapping it silent as glancing to his right. Rachel was missing. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the scene from his mind. It wasn't real, as much as he wanted it to be.

Dressed in a tee shirt and lounge pants, he padded toward the kitchen, pausing when he caught a glimpse of a blanket piled up on the sofa in the sitting room. With curiosity, he approached it, seeing locks of Rachel's dark hair peeking out from over the armrest. He exhaled softly, observing her as she slept on her side, her back pressed against the cushions. Why was she out here? Kneeling in front of her, he gently stroked her cheek. "Baby girl," he whispered, seeing her stir. He watched as her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on him. "Let's get you in bed."

"No," she murmured, still tired. "It …" She yawned, covering her mouth. "The springs hurt my back."

Sam's heart twisted a little. "Then I'm ordering a new mattress for you today." He stroked her cheek, guilt eating at him as he saw her lull back to sleep. As he went to object, he stopped, silent as he saw her resting. If she was comfortable, he would leave her be.

In the kitchen, Sam poured himself a cup of coffee, mixing in cream and sipping it with a sigh. He scrolled through options for mattresses on his phone, wincing at the price tags. Still, Rachel had over five more months ahead—she couldn't spend them on the couch.

"Rough night for ya?" Rowena asked.

He looked up from his phone, offering her a small smile. "Just worried about Rachel."

"Aye, I see she's at the stage of needing accommodation."

Sam nodded. "I have to get a new mattress."

Rowena poured herself some hot water from the kettle on the stove, fixing a cup of tea. "She's such a little thing, she'll be needing support under her belly as the lad grows. The weight on her frame will do terrors on her back. Trust me, I know."

Wetting his lips, Sam sighed. He instantly felt guilty. After all, he was the one to get her pregnant. "Any advice?"

Rowena smiled. "Pillows. Lots of 'em. And chocolate never hurt." He nodded, sipping his coffee. "I suppose you've decided against the best course of action, then."

Sam looked down at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she said with a look towards the direction of the sitting room, "the wee one is quite special, Samuel, as you've likely noticed. If he was merely a Winchester, he'd be wanted. But with his power too?" She shook her head. "Well, he's a little nugget of gold. I'm surprised Lucifer hasn't caught wind of him yet." Sam's jaw ticked as he looked down into his cup. "All I'm saying is," Rowena continued, "you might want to consider what's best for your love and your son."

"Which is what?" Sam asked stiffly.

"Relocation," Rowena replied. She held her hand up, halting Sam's rebuttal. "I know it's not ideal, but Sam, I don't think you realize just how valuable your son could be to someone like Lucifer. Sure, he isn't Jack, but he certainly isn't anything to sneeze at. And he's _your_ blood."

"I can't send Rachel away," Sam argued.

"You can't tell me you expect to protect her once he finds out, do you? Sending her away now will at least ensure her safety while you try to find Jack."

Sam set his cup down. "She's staying. I can protect her here. I can't out there."

Rowen shrugged. "Suit yourself." She paced away toward the library, pausing. "If you do change your mind, I know of a coven who could conceal them quite well."

Shutting his eyes, Sam's head lowered. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, fighting the tears and anger Rowena's concern spurred on. Though she had good intentions, she was too late. Lucifer was already more than aware of his son, and of his girlfriend. His focus now was how to detach them both from the devil's grip while keeping them safe.

The mere mention of Lucifer's name stirred a complex brew of emotions within. He had been lying to everyone for weeks now, pretending to have had no contact with Lucifer when he was closer to him then he ever wanted to be. The torture of his decision several weeks ago wore him down, a lead weight on his shoulders:

 _Sam left the hospital, tears in his eyes as he tried to shake Rachel's paled, empty look from his eyes. He knew the doctors were trying to be kind, trying to keep his hope alive. But he also knew the reality of his situation—if Castiel and Gabriel couldn't heal her, there was only one angel he knew how to locate that could. The price tag would be hefty, but Rachel's life was more than worth it._

 _He took a cab to the nearest crossroads after managing to lie to Dean to gather a few supplies from the Impala. With a heavy heart, he dug into the ground, burying the small box containing the summoning ingredients, including a wrinkled photo of him and Rachel he had kept in his wallet. With gritted teeth, he waited, looking around him to see where the demon was._

" _Sam Winchester," a man's voice said with a laugh. Sam turned to the left, seeing a vessel dressed in a suit and tie with sharp brown eyes looking back at him. The demon's sandy hair ruffled in the breeze. "Dean's still alive. So what are you doing here?"_

" _I want to speak with Lucifer," Sam said, ignoring the demon's question._

 _The demon's brow rose. "Then summon him. I'm not a messenger boy."_

" _I would if I could," Sam snapped. "But this is the best I've got. So, tell him I'm here."_

" _And why would I do that? What's in it for me?"_

 _Sam laughed, pulling out the demon blade. "You get to live."_

 _It was the demon's turn to laugh. "Sam, Sam, Sam. You haven't been a threat for years now. What makes you think you can—"_

 _The demon started choking; Sam stepped back, surprised when Lucifer appeared behind the vessel. "You know," Lucifer sighed, shaking his head, "you just can't find good help these days." He looked to Sam. "Such a lack of customer service. Know what I mean?" Sam's nostrils flared as he watched the demon sputter, falling to his knees. He jumped when Lucifer snapped his fingers, demolishing the vessel into thin air. "Anyway, what's up, my protégé?" Lucifer smirked. "You rang?" Sam was hesitant, regretting his choice momentarily. "Oh, come on," Lucifer sighed. "I mean, I know we haven't really been BFFs, but I can smell the desperation, and man, does it smell good. Let me help you out, huh?"_

" _If you know what I want, then what's your price?" Sam asked._

" _Can we just clarify what you'd like?" Lucifer asked with a grin. "I mean, I just kinda sorta wanna hear you tell me my bro can't handle it."_

 _Sam eyed him. "I want you to heal Rachel Lentz."_

" _Mmm. Saw the pic. She's a hottie." Lucifer stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, pacing a bit. "So, someone's tamed Sam Winchester, huh? Can't say I blame you. Rawr."_

" _Will you do it or not?" Sam asked impatiently._

" _Oh sure, I will. So long as you keep your end of the bargain."_

" _Which is what?"_

 _Lucifer shrugged. "I just want the kid."_

 _Sam's brow wrinkled. "Why?"_

" _Shits and giggles. I'll make sure Honey Bunches is fine through pregnancy and delivery. After she pops it out, I take it, and transaction closed." Lucifer paused. "Solves your immediate and future problems. Unless, you'd rather her keep bleeding …"_

 _Sam drew in a deep breath. Lucifer having that kind of power was not ideal. But neither was Rachel dying. Though the nephilim was half Rachel, he couldn't allow her to die, or allow the fetus to eventually kill her. "Tick-tock, Sammy," Lucifer said, looking at him expectantly. "It's a good deal."_

" _Fine," Sam finally agreed, swallowing back his contempt._

" _Awesome." Lucifer clapped his hands together. "Alright, so…" He paused, then nodded. "Yep. You'll find your little cream puff is all healed up when you get back to the hospital, and I'll see you in a few months. Ciao."_

 _Sam hung his head when Lucifer disappeared, his gut churning. Somehow, he would have to take Rachel's child from her without her knowing his intentions. Guilt weighed on him, driving him to the nearest bar, where he downed more bourbon than he should've as he ran over his choice in his mind. Why was Lucifer satisfied with only the nephilim? It seemed almost too easy, too predictable. Was there a trick waiting to be uncovered?_

 _When he returned to the hospital, he was relieved that Lucifer made good on his word. Rachel was on the upswing, something the doctors had no idea how it happened. Castiel was convinced his and Gabriel's healing did the trick, while Sam kept the truth to himself for obvious reasons._

 _Only, when Castiel told them the child was fully human, Sam nearly passed out from the surprise, then nearly died under his own crushed soul when he remembered his deal. He cursed Lucifer in his head, venomously angry for how he had been tricked. Sam made the deal thinking the child was a nephilim, not his own son. And Lucifer knew that. He nearly vomited at the thought of giving up his own child to the devil, knowing how incredibly selfish it was when he was ready to give up the nephilim that was half Rachel. Something had to be done._

 _When Rachel came home from the hospital, Sam immediately summoned Lucifer one night on a stakeout he insisted on going on alone. "You son of a bitch!" he growled, storming toward the devil. "You set me up!"_

" _Easy, Sasquatch," Lucifer said, holding his hand up and making Sam freeze in place. "Not my problem you didn't check on things. You're an adult."_

" _You can't have him," Sam snarled, fighting the invisible grip._

 _Lucifer pursed his lips. "Uh, yeah I can."_

" _I'll never let you near him or Rachel."_

" _It's in poor taste to back out on a deal." Lucifer sighed. "I mean, I could snap my fingers and Rachey-Poo could bleed to death before you could get back to her."_

 _Sam's nostrils flared. "I don't want to back out. I want the deal revised."_

" _Hmm. What are you offering, Sammy?"_

 _There was a moment of hesitation. "Me. My soul."_

 _With a pause, Lucifer's mouth turned up into a smirk. "Interesting." He nodded softly as he walked around, silent for a long moment as he considered the offer. "You know, I like it. But I'm not after your soul. I just want your allegiance." He paused, looking at Sam. "Since Asmodeus got the axe, there's been a bit of competition downstairs. I had my sights on Heaven, but those dicks don't appreciate a good thing when they see it. I'm looking for a giant worldly do-over, but I've got to see who I can keep around. So, I'll tell you what—you drain the swamp of shit demons for me, and I'll revise my deal to release your son."_

 _"Why don't you kill them yourself?"_

 _"Can't. Too messy. I'm going for a whole 'fresh start' campaign." Lucifer snapped his fingers. "Oh, and no blades. Way too old school."_

" _Then killing demons otherwise would require me to drink demon blood," Sam growled._

" _Yep," Lucifer nodded casually. "But, there's a crap ton of that around, so no worries." He stepped closer. "So, what do you say? You scratch my back, and I'll make sure your son's and Rachel's don't get broken."_

 _Sam swallowed back his fear and guilt. The idea of being Lucifer's hit man, coupled with needing to feed the monster inside of him, was nearly unbearable. Still, he wouldn't give up Rachel or his son. He would take their place. There was no other choice, no other way. "Done."_

With a heavy sigh, Sam sat down at the table, resting his mug on the surface. He flicked through his options for a mattress on his phone, selecting the best one he could afford. He plugged in a credit card number he knew by heart, finishing the order.

"Morning, Sammy," Dean said as he came into the kitchen. "You in a fight with Rach?"

Sam shook his head, setting his phone down and running his hand over his stubbled face. "No. She's just uncomfortable on my mattress, so she's sleeping on the couch. I've got another mattress on the way. But I had to use the balance of one of the cards."

"She needs it, so …" Dean shrugged. "Gonna need to order more than that soon."

"Yeah." Sam swallowed, staring at his coffee with a pensive look.

Dean studied his brother. "You okay?"

"No." Sam laughed to himself. "I'm … I'm scared."

"About the baby," Dean concluded softly, sitting down across from him. "About Rachel."

Sam nodded, looking up in the direction of the sitting room. "I'm worried about her all the time. Our son ... He's not a normal child. So long as he's alive, he'll be hunted down." He exhaled, rubbing at his temples. "I feel like I've taken her life from her. She didn't ask for all of this. Sometimes, I wonder … I wonder if we aren't better off having an …" Sam's jaw ticked. He couldn't finish the thought.

Dean drew in a deep breath. "An abortion," he concluded. He raised his brows, looking down. "Sam, I don't know if Rachel would agree to that."

"She wouldn't," Sam replied sadly. "I know she wouldn't. But I can't put her in this position." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it. "I wanted so badly to believe I could have that life with her, but I can't. I can't risk her like this." The words were bitter on his tongue before they even left his mouth. "All I can do is send her away. It's the only way to keep her safe."

Dean scoffed. "You don't mean that." He was surprised when Sam met him with a very serious expression. "Sam, you can't just send her somewhere and think that'll solve things."

"Rowena has a coven," Sam murmured. "Maybe—"

"No," Dean interrupted.

Sam laughed. "'No?' I don't think you get a say."

"You're damn right I do," Dean corrected. "Sam, you're not sending Rachel away."

"It's to protect her."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Dean asked, his voice raising. "It was a bad idea when she wanted to leave to 'protect you' before, remember? How is this any different?"

"Relocating her is safer for her."

Dean eyed Sam. "I know you didn't plan on being a father, but I hope to God you're not thinking about bailing on her and your son."

"Yeah, I'm afraid of being a father a little," Sam snapped, "but that's _not_ driving this. Reality is."

"Reality?"

"Yeah. The reality that our son puts a giant target on Rachel's head. If no one knows about him, then it doesn't. The end."

Dean shook his head. "This goes way beyond that. You've been weird at best for nearly two months now."

"I'm _fine._ "

"The hell you are. Six weeks ago, you were ready to propose to Rachel and raise your son. Now you're talking about shipping her off to God knows where with a bunch of witches you don't even know?"

"It's a hell of a lot better than her being killed."

"So that's it? Knock her up, and when it gets too messy for you, you send her on her way?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare."

"That's what this is, Sam. It isn't for her. It's for _you._ " Dean stood, his pulse racing. "The Sam I know wouldn't even begin to think about letting her go. But you? You want to send her away to cover your own ass."

"You don't know a damn thing about it!" Sam snarled, standing.

"You're right, Sam, I don't." Dean stepped closer. "You know why I don't? Because you won't tell me anything. You keep acting like this version of you is normal, but I know it isn't. So does Rachel."

Sam wet his lips quickly. "There's _nothing_ different about me."

Dean lifted his chin a little, eyeing his brother. "Everything's different about you. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were on the tap again. But you'd have to be a whole new level of moron to do that, and I know you're not that stupid."

"What?" a soft voice asked behind them.


	28. Chapter 28

**_S13 E21 "Beat The Devil" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Both brothers turned toward the doorway, seeing Rachel staring back at them. Her hair was brushed over one shoulder, a blanket draped around her. "What are you talking about?" she asked Dean.

"Rachel—" Sam began.

"No." Rachel held up her hand at him. "I want to know what Dean meant." She looked to Dean expectantly.

"Dean," Sam growled, panting as he felt himself panic. "I'm not. I'm just stressed, alright? That's _it_ , though."

Dean looked between them, silent for a prolonged moment. "Drinking," he said to Rachel. "Sam had a drinking problem a few years back." He looked back over to Sam, who stood rigidly in front of the table. "But he's clean now," Dean added softly, examining his brother. "We're going to start the spell in a few. Gabriel and Cas should be done soon."

Without another word, Dean left, Sam's heart still racing as he watched. "Is it true?" he heard Rachel ask. He turned his focus to her, seeing the worry in her eyes.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard to wet his dry throat. "Yeah. But I'm clean."

"Carrying a flask doesn't say, 'clean.'"

"I said, I'm _fine_ ," he insisted, markedly gruffer than he meant to.

Rachel was taken back by his darkness. She considered challenging him, but opted not to reply, slipping back into the hall toward their room.

Sam ran his hands through his hair, yanking down on it. Releasing it, he slammed a balled up fist onto the table, making his mug rattle and slosh coffee. He quickly followed after Rachel, not bothering to knock as he threw open the door to their room. Rachel jumped in surprise, turning as she paused midway through tugging on a tee shirt over her bra.

Frozen, Sam stared at Rachel's growing womb. His heart twisted; he wanted so badly to confess his sins to her for the sake of their son. She deserved to know what kind of life their boy would have. If history repeated itself, Robbie Winchester's existence would be nothing but pain for him, and maybe even for her.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, his voice cracking a little. He watched as Rachel slowly covered her stomach, the shock melting away. "I …" Sam stopped, biting back the confession he almost made. With a swallowed growl, he went to his bureau and took out a change of clothes, stripping down and re-dressing with his back to her.

Rachel watched in silence, waiting until he turned toward her, buckled his belt, and slipped on his boots before approaching him much like a skittish animal. Her hands slowly, gently reached for his as she stood in front of him. "Sammy, please. Please tell me what's going on."

Her pained begging was enough to do Sam in. He felt his eyes well with tears. "You'll never forgive me …"

"Don't say that," she objected. "There is _nothing_ you can say that I wouldn't forgive."

He smiled sadly. "Don't be so sure." Rachel reached up and stroked Sam's cheek, moving close to him. He shut his eyes as her womb pressed against his stomach. "God, I love you," he shuddered.

"And I, you," Rachel whispered back. "So talk to me. Tell me."

As he opened his mouth to speak, a shout from Dean came down the hall. "Sam! It's rift time!" Sam didn't move. His heart slammed against his chest as he stared at the dark waves of hair that draped over Rachel's shoulder. "Come on, Sam!"

"Sam," Rachel said firmly, gaining his attention, his eyes meeting hers. "I know you're dead set on going through the rift this time. So, you _need_ to tell me what's going on before you do."

Shutting his eyes, Sam hung his head. "I can't tell you, then leave," he said. "I can't do that."

"And I can't sit here and wait another day for you to tell me why you've been acting the way you have. Something's gotta give."

"Sam," Castiel said firmly behind them, making them turn to face him as he stood in the doorway. "Everything is nearly ready. We need you to prepare gear."

With a quick look back to Rachel, Sam began to follow Castiel. "Sam," Rachel said, a grit to her voice that made Sam's blood run cold.

Sam turned to her. "I swear to you," he said, brow creased as he fought back his tears and frustration, "I will. The minute I'm back."

Rachel watched him leave, Castiel only giving her a short glance before following behind him. Despite his vow, she couldn't help but feel slighted. Sam walked away from probably one of the most critical conversations they would ever have. _Weaseled his way right out of it. Of course. Then leaves me here frustrated._ She drew in a sharp breath, tugging her tee shirt tightly over her bump as she exhaled with a sigh. Even her yoga pants and basic tops were started to feel uncomfortable. Still, she couldn't afford a new wardrobe—not with having yet to begin purchasing baby furniture or supplies. The baby needed so much that it felt like the list would consume her whole.

As she ran her hand over her womb, she froze, realization striking her. Was that it? Was Sam trying to tell her he didn't want the baby? Sure, he had assured her that he wanted to be with her, but he didn't mention wanting to be a father. Maybe he changed his mind, and his resentment was clouding his behavior.

Her conversation with Gabriel struck her memory. She sat down on the edge of their bed, chewing on her bottom lip. She was much further along than she ever dreamed of being while considering terminating the pregnancy. It wasn't even something she could think about without a cold, clammy surge of sadness running through her. Still, if the baby was why Sam was being the way he was, then something had to be done. She would either raise the baby herself, or they would get an …

Rachel shivered. What would Sam think if she proposed such a thing? The idea made her nauseous, but what other choices were there? _Leaving._ Still, she had tried that, and Sam wasn't willing. Could she really end her son's life to appease Sam? _No. No way in hell._

* * *

By the time Rachel wandered back into the library, Dean, Sam, and Rowena were bustling about, busy prepping to open the rift. Sam glanced up from the supply shelf he was rifling through, meeting her eyes for a prolonged moment. She watched him wet his lips, returning his focus to the items in front of him.

Castiel came in with a worn look on his face, Sam turning to him. "Hey. How's Gabriel?" he asked.

"He said he needed a minute alone. He wanted to extract his grace by himself." Castiel made air quotes. "'In private.' So, I left him alone in Dean's room."

Sam couldn't help but smirk; Dean's head shot up, brow wrinkled. "What? No!" Castiel looked back at him in confusion, Dean grimacing in response.

"I hate to interrupt," Rowena said, assembling the ingredients, "but I can't be the only one who's noticed the rather glaring hole in this plan." She looked between the brothers as they readied weapons and ammunition. "We open up the rift, it gives us a day to find and save your mom and the boy. And it's a very big world over there, and you're not even sure where they are, so …"

"She's right," Castiel agreed. "The clock might run out on us."

Sam cocked his weapon, stowing it in his waistband. "Yeah. It might." He glanced to Rachel, who remained silent as she held his gaze with a cool look.

"Yeah, well, we don't have any better ideas," Dean added.

"Mm. That's inspirational," Rowena commented.

"Yeah," Rachel muttered, eyeing Sam. "Really reassuring."

As Sam readied himself to reply, Gabriel came back into the library, smirking as he held a vial in his hand. "Here it is! The final ingredient—a fresh serving of archangel grace." He laid it down on the desktop proudly. Dean tilted his head as he examined it, Sam's brow arching as Rowena slowly picked it up, dumbfounded at the small amount.

"This is what you call a serving?" she asked.

"That is the jet fuel of divine emissions," Gabriel argued. "It'll be more than enough to get the job done."

Everyone traded doubtful looks. "Well, what the hell," Dean mumbled, turning back to finish prepping his supplies.

Rachel moved away from Sam as he slid on his jacket. He stopped her quickly, taking her by her upper arms and drawing her close. She stiffened in his hold, and it made his chest clench. "I promise you," he whispered into her ear as he held her, his fingers smoothing over her, "when this is over, you'll know everything _._ " He kissed her neck just below her earlobe. " _Everything._ I can't possibly tell you right now, but you _will_ know."

"Fine," she said back noncommittally.

"You're angry," he noted, pulling away to look down into her eyes.

"Congrats! Johnny, what do we have for him?" Rachel replied sarcastically, glaring at him.

Sam's jaw clenched. He pulled her away from the others to the far corner despite her resistance. "Rachel, I'm sorry," he said, his breath quickening. "There's far too much to tell, and not enough time."

"I said, _fine,_ " Rachel repeated, holding his gaze. She slipped out of his loose grip. "But that doesn't mean I need to magically 'be okay' while you're gone. You've kept something pretty damn important from me for a while now, so I have the right to be pissed off." She moved in closer. "I don't have to send you off to war with a clear conscience. If you wanted one, then you should've told me the truth weeks ago."

Rowena's commanding voice casting the spell grabbed their attention. Both turned, watching. "Koth Munto Nuntox!" she ordered, flinging her power into the direction of the open space in front of them. The rift appeared, crackling with energy as it flowed orange in front of them.

"Okay, everyone ready?" Castiel asked.

With a pained look back at Rachel, Sam stepped away from her toward the opening, feeling breathless as he looked at it. "Yeah. Alright."

"Let's do this," Dean said.

All four men stepped forward, stopping when the rift opening began to dim, flickering as it fell and curved to the side. They all watched its descent with tilted heads until it fully disappeared.

"Okay …" Dean murmured.

"Well, that was … fast," Castiel remarked as Rowena arched her brow at Gabriel, who looked surprised.

"Very, very fast," Sam said.

"One could even say 'premature,'" Rowena added, eyeing Gabriel.

Gabriel looked nervously around. "Um, I thought it would be enough."

"Alright, great," Sam muttered. "What do we do now?"

"Hell if I know," Dean sighed.

"You _do_ know," Castiel corrected. "We all do." His focus rested on Sam. "We need archangel grace. Gabriel's obviously running a little low, and we don't know how long it'll take him to recover. So that leaves exactly one source on Earth."

Sam instantly felt sick to his stomach. He reached out blindly and snagged Rachel's hand, not caring about her resistance to him in the moment. "No."

"I don't like it either," Castiel agreed. "But there is no other way. We need Lucifer."

Rachel could feel the pulsating tension running through Sam, his fingertips digging possessively into her, as if his grip alone could keep her safe. She studied his profile, watching how his muscles clenched as his gears turned. Sam had never elaborated on his history with Lucifer, but knowing what she knew about Lucifer's ways, and judging from the way he reacted, she imagined it was very far from pretty.

"No," Sam repeated, a grit to his tone. He looked at Castiel with a focused glare. "He's not coming anywhere near her."

"We can bind him," Castiel argued.

"Yeah, and for how long?"

"We need his grace."

"Find another way," Sam snapped.

Without a word, Castiel pulled Dean and Sam toward the kitchen, Rachel following after them. As Castiel paused to tell her to wait for them, she gave him a death glare that made him quickly change his mind. They each found a space in the kitchen as they contemplated the proposal Castiel made.

Sam drew in a deep, shaky breath as he stripped his jacket off, resting it on the counter. His nerves were shot. He was towing a dangerous line already, one that Dean and Rachel couldn't know about. At least Rachel, not yet. Interacting with Lucifer would only expose that and risk her and his son. He slumped to the ground, resting his back against the wall as he sat on a ledge. "Obviously, I wanna get Mom and Jack back," he began. "It's all I want. It's all I can think about. But we've been down this road before." The guilt of his choice several weeks ago rose up, catching in his throat. "Teaming up with Lucifer—"

"We're not teaming up with him," Dean corrected.

"We just need his grace," Castiel added.

"Oh, 'just,'" Sam scoffed.

"We've trapped his ass before," Dean argued.

"Yes, and every time, it ends up the same way," Sam argued back bitterly, remembering how he had been deceived. "With the devil on the loose again."

"Look, Sam," Castiel began with empathy, "I was used by Lucifer too. It was the worst possible violation. So, I'm not taking your reluctance lightly. But he is already out there, and we've been ignoring it and avoiding dealing with him because we're afraid." Sam tried to calm his pulse as he listened, his head screaming against having him so close to Rachel. "We let Lucifer out of the cage and he has never stopped being our responsibility."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, stiffening a little on instinct as Rachel sat down next to him. He kept his eyes shut, feeling her small hands run over his arms. "Maybe there's a way to use him without risking him taking over," she whispered.

He latched onto her hand, hating everything about himself in that moment. They were all right. There was no other choice.

"So?" Dean asked softly across from him.

Sam let go of Rachel's hand, propping his head on his knuckles. She stroked his arm as she sat beside him. "No, you're right," he admitted. "Another fun, great choice," he added with bitterness.

"Well, hey—bright side is, even if we do pull it off, we still only get twenty-four hours in the apocalypse world," Dean offered. "And Rowena's right. We'll be lucky to even hear a word of Mom and Jack." Dean sarcastically gave him a thumbs up.

"Wait a second," Sam murmured, focusing on the floor as he thought about what Rachel said, coupled with Dean's observation.

"What?" Castiel asked.

An idea flitted through Sam's head, seeming to solve not only their current problem, but his ongoing one with Rachel and Robbie. "What if the rift was open for longer than twenty-four hours?" he asked, looking between all of them as his internal gears turned.

Rachel's brow creased. "How would you be able to do that?"

"The only ingredient that 'wears down' during the spell is the grace, right?" Sam asked all of them. "So, what if we had a steady stream of it, giving us a constant recharge of the spell?"

Dean's lips curled into a tiny smile as he thought over what Sam was suggesting. "Now you're talking."


	29. Chapter 29

**_S13 E21 "Beat The Devil" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character._**

* * *

Rowena and Gabriel managed to locate and trap Lucifer, bringing him back to the bunker while his vessel still remained unconscious. Rachel watched next to Sam nervously as Rowena bound Lucifer in magic cuffs, Lucifer resting on his knees in the library.

A while later, Lucifer began to stir. "He's awake," Rowena said to Dean as she minded the mortar and pestle, watching him. Dean sat up from his reclined position on the desk as Lucifer looked up.

"Oh, hey Sam," Lucifer smiled. He shifted his focus to Rachel. "And Rachel—I've heard so much about you. Nice to finally meet you. You look great. Motherhood suits you."

"You don't talk to her," Sam warned with an icy growl.

Lucifer chuckled softly. "Sammy, come on. I'm being polite." He looked around, noting the others in the room. "Oh, look at this. All the people I love to torture in the same room. What's the occasion, guys?" Rowena took the bowl and moved silently toward Lucifer, sitting it in front of him on the floor. "Ah. Okay, I think I see what's going on. You're planning a trip to save Mother Mary, and you need my grace. Is that about it?"

Castiel grabbed Lucifer by the hair and lifted his head up, expertly slicing against Lucifer's throat. "Good guess." From the slit he made, silvery grace began to trickle out, dropping down into the bowl.

"Okay, you could've done this back at the bar," Lucifer said. "Could've drained me, killed me. What's this really about? Humiliation?" He looked to Sam. "Revenge?"

"Ah, those are just bonuses," Sam said with a cool tone that nearly made Rachel shiver. He stood in front of her, partially blocking her with his arms folded over his chest, eyeing Lucifer. "See, we got a lot of work to do back in Apocalypse World, but not a whole lot of time to do it. So I realized something. I realized we could use you."

Rowena crouched near the bowl, commanding, "Koth Munto Notox!" as she flung her hands toward the open space. A strong, steady rift appeared, glowing brightly.

"Use you not to just crack the door open," Sam continued, picking up his bag, "but to keep it open. So, we're gonna drain you. We will keep on draining you."

"Like a stuck pig," Dean added, taking up his own bag.

"Grace on tap," Gabriel said with a shrugged smirk. "Sorry, bro."

"And then, when we get back, we'll kill you," Sam finished with a point.

Lucifer nodded his head. "Cool. Guess that settles your ongoing issue too, doesn't it, Sam? Two birds, one stone. Very economical." He looked up at Sam, catching Rachel's confusion and Sam's angry glare.

"What is he talking about?" Rachel asked Sam quietly.

"Nothing," Sam assured her, running his hand over her arm.

Lucifer scoffed. "Um, yeah, it's kind of everything."

"Shut up," Sam warned, catching Dean's wrinkled brow out of his peripheral. He looked to Rowena. "You gonna be okay back here?"

"Aye," she replied. "Someone needs to keep an eye on the devil. Go save your mum."

"Besides, I'll be with her," Rachel reminded him.

Sam turned to her, eyes wide. "Uh-uh. We already settled that."

" _You_ settled that," Rachel argued. "I'm not rushing off and leaving Rowena here." She took hold of his arm as he began to protest. "It'll be fine."

Sam looked at the rift, knowing every second he argued with her would be one less they had to find Mary and Jack. He drew Rachel away from the others, shielding her from Lucifer's sight. " _Don't_ talk to him," he said in a firm whisper. "He'll only try to manipulate you." He put his thumb over her mouth as she objected. "I mean it. I know how he works. He will twist _anything_ he can. Just stay away from him, okay? No matter what. Promise me."

Rachel nodded, seeing the sheer desperation in Sam's eyes. His pain was tangible. "I promise."

Drawing her close, Sam kissed Rachel's forehead, tears threatening to escape as he thought of leaving her with Lucifer. Rachel clung to the soft fabric of his red plaid shirt, breathing in his scent. She shut her eyes as his mouth moved down her cheek, allowing herself to loosen in his hold. "Sammy," she breathed. "Please just come back to me."

Sam pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Always," he swore, nuzzling her before taking her lips between his. He drove his fingers into her hair, cradling her head as he tasted her, covering the soft whimper she made with his mouth. They reluctantly parted, Sam unable to stop touching her. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," she whispered back, her heart breaking as Sam pressed his forehead to hers and covered the expanse of her womb with his hand, his fingers tenderly stroking over it. "We'll be fine."

He nodded against her, still rubbing her stomach. "I'll make things right when I come back. I promise you, both of you."

With a sniff, Sam turned back to the others, taking Rachel's hand. Gabriel looked over to him. "You ready?" he asked Sam.

Giving Rachel's hand one final squeeze, he nodded and stepped close to the rift. "Ready," he replied, a beat later stepping through and disappearing.

Rachel watched, pained, her heart twisted. It only got worse seeing Dean and Castiel following behind—even Gabriel. The plan was solid, but she still had a sick feeling in her stomach. Something wasn't right, or wouldn't be right. _Maybe I'm just worried._ Despite the obviousness of her answer, she could help but attribute her fears to something more than just worry.

Something was going to go wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. And she couldn't stop it.

* * *

Sam and Dean tumbled out of the rift into the apocalypse world with a grunt as they hit the dirt, rolling down an incline. Gabriel and Castiel followed behind, Gabriel awkwardly landing face-first into Castiel's crotch. Sam and Dean stood with raised brows, watching as they quickly separated. "Oh boy," Gabriel breathed, coming to stand. "I could've used a heads up about this landing site."

"Yeah," Dean replied with a sigh. "Thought we'd get spit out in the same spot, but this isn't it." He looked around. "Alright, we'll Charlie—the other Charlie—said that Mary and Jack have an outpost in Dayton."

"Okay," Sam said, "let's get our bearings and head that way. Cas, where are we?"

"Uh … Kentucky. Northeast Kentucky. Or what used to be Kentucky."

"Which means that's north," Dean continued, turning and pointing. "Okay, so Dayton's that way. Roughly. Two days by foot, but that way." He gestured them forward. "After you. Let's go."

* * *

Lucifer sighed as he remained kneeling over the bowl, his grace dripping from his neck as he looked at the portal. "I don't know, Red," he said. "I think I'd be a tad insulted if I were you." He watched with a tiny smile as Rachel slipped quietly into the library with a mug, handing it to Rowena. "Both of you, really. It's not like you have the posh job of babysitting me. I mean, there is sort of an old-fashioned rightness to it, if you think about it. The men going off to face the trials and glories of war. Woman staying home in the kitchen … where she belongs."

Rachel left without a word. Rowena smiled over at Lucifer despite his smirk. "I know you're trying to bait me with your seeming Neanderthal misogyny. Anything to distract yourself from your profound, deeply emasculating humiliation." She laughed softly. "Mm. Sorry, Lucille. I'm not biting."

"Okay," Lucifer replied, silent for a moment before he started singing _Camptown Races_ loudly, Rowena rubbing her brows.

* * *

Dean and Sam walked alongside each other, weapons at the ready. "You seem different since we got here," Dean noted.

"Really?" Sam asked, trying to play his observation off.

"Yeah, like you're … lighter. More energetic."

Sam shook his head. "Maybe it's just, you know, Mom and Jack, and … You know, I mean, we've been working at it so hard, for this for so long, and we're finally here. We're close." He turned to Dean, smiling. "Can't you feel it?"

Dean arched a brow. "You sure it doesn't have anything to do with what Lucifer said back there?"

"He was just trying to mess with me with Rachel there," Sam replied.

"Uh huh. So, there's nothing you'd care to elaborate on now that we're here?"

With a sniff, Sam looked down. "There's nothing to say, Dean."

"How about how you think shipping Rachel and your son off is a smart idea when, in fact, it's really, really dumb?"

Sam looked over at Dean with a soft nod of surrender. "Yeah. You're probably right." He swallowed, a bit more excited about Lucifer's anticipated death than he could afford to show. Dean couldn't know what he had done. Not now. When he got back, he'd make it right between them. For now, he had to keep to the task on hand.

Still, as they walked, he couldn't help but think about Rachel and his son. Sam drew in a deep breath, remembering the feel of Rachel's womb under his fingertips. He didn't recall a time where he had been so completely and utterly attached to anyone, other than Dean. Yet, here was Rachel, the woman his heart ached for, and she was carrying a piece of his soul within her. There was no way he could send them away. It would kill him before it ever saved them.

It didn't matter, anyway. There wasn't a need to worry about them once he got back. With Lucifer gone, his debt was clear, and their lives were safe. It kept him moving forward, pitting the obvious spring in his step. Once they found Jack and Mary, the road to redemption was smooth sailing. His budding family would be safe.

A man's and woman's desperate screams pierced through the air, stopping all four of them in their tracks. Sam and Dean immediately bolted toward the sound, Gabriel objecting behind them. "Not our world, not our problem," he reminded. When he saw they weren't listening, he added, "Right?"

They immediately sprang into action when they saw a man and young woman struggling against a vile looking creature with fangs. Dean knocked off the creature from the woman, turning and aiming his gun at it. Sam sliced its head off cleanly with his blade, the creature and its head dropping separately to the ground.

"What the hell was that thing?" Dean asked, offering the young girl a hand, helping her to stand up.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "A vampire."

"It's not like any vamp we've ever seen," Sam said.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Sam." He pointed out the others. "Uh, Dean, Gabriel, and Cas."

"We, uh … we're not from around here," Dean added. "Tell me, what makes a bloodsucker look like that?" He nodded to the dismembered head of the vampire.

"Starvation," the man replied. "When Michael's armies started to wipe out the humans, they didn't think about monsters, or what happened to 'em when their food source dried up. Turns out, not eating makes them wild. Nothing but pure, stupid appetite."

"Which way you headed?" the girl asked.

"North," Dean replied.

"To Dayton?" She nodded. "We were going that way too. We heard that the rebels, Jack and Mary, set up a satellite colony out there, an outpost."

"Wait," Sam said, "what do you mean, 'were?'"

"Me, Floyd, the rest of our group … we were crossing north through the Morehead Tunnel. We stumbled into a whole nest of those things."

"Nine of us went in," Floyd said. "Only me and Maggie came out."

"This tunnel," Dean said, "is it the only way north?"

"There's a mountain pass," Maggie noted. "But it's a long way around. Tunnel's the quickest route."

"If the long way is the safe way …" Gabriel said, looking at the others, hoping they were on board.

"No," Sam objected, surprising the others. "We're already two days out from Dayton as it is. We don't have time for a detour." He swallowed, Rachel flitting through his mind's eye. "Listen, we've faced worse than a nest of vamps before. Much worse. So, if you still want to get to Dayton, we'll keep you safe." He flexed his fingers, recalling the curve of her womb. "As far as we're concerned, we're going through that tunnel."

* * *

Lucifer's voice only got higher and louder, his singing intending to drive Rowena insane. Rachel had avoided the library by Sam's request, but as she listened from the kitchen, she couldn't any longer sit back on the sidelines. She knew Rowena had to be going crazy in there.

With a deep breath, Rachel strode into the library, wincing at the heightened volume of Lucifer's singing. She approached Rowena, coming to stand at her side. "Go stretch your legs, or take a nap," she urged. "I've got this."

"Oh, no, lass," Rowena argued, Lucifer's singing making her cringe. "I'll not be leaving you with the likes of him."

"It's fine," Rachel insisted. "It's not like he's not going anywhere."

"I can't imagine Sam would want you alone with him."

Rachel gently helped Rowena to stand. "Yeah, well, Sam isn't here," she replied. With a wave, she occupied Rowena's seat. "Go. Relax. Besides, I'll need practice with childish behavior for the future." She smiled softly as she saw Rowena relax with a thankful sigh, watching her as she exited the room.

Lucifer continued singing for a few more bars before softening his tone, then stopping all together. "Ooh, the changing of the guards," he noted. "And a lovely one at that." Rachel didn't reply; she opened one of the books from the desk, skimming through the table of contents. "You know," Lucifer continued, "a little conversation wouldn't hurt anyone. Not even Junior." He watched the subtle reaction she mostly buried. "Aww, you think Sammy's gonna get mad if you have a chat, like he told you not to? That's cute. So … you're like his pet, right?" He smirked widely. "A pretty little obedient bitch on a leash."

Rachel eyed him. "It didn't work on Rowena, and it won't work on me."

"Ah, I beg to differ," Lucifer replied with a grin. "See, you may be a Good Samaritan and all that, but you've got your own agenda right now."

"Oh really?"

"I mean, hey. I dig it. While the cat's away, the mouse will try to get overdue answers, am I right?"

"I don't want anything from you."

"Sure. Okay. So, you're cool with Sam hiding really important stuff from you, like you're some kind of lower class citizen. Got it."

"You keep trying to insinuate Sam believes he is above me."

Lucifer shrugged. "Because he does."

Rachel rolled her eyes, focusing back down on the book in front of her. "Keep dreaming, pal."

"Hey, archaic gender roles aside, the bottom line is, you're curious." He looked over her smugly as she attempted to ignore him. "Can't help but want to chat me up to see what I know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do," he argued. "Behind those big, doe eyes, button nose, and delicious hair … by the way, do you and Sam share shampoo and conditioner? I mean, come on. The two of you—you're like a Pantene commercial." He laughed at her glare. "Anyway, your brain is whirling, sweetheart. It's really quite fun to read. Not only are you great to look at, but your head is entertaining. Rawr."

Rachel wet her lips, jaw stiffening. "Have fun in there," she said, attempting to roll him off her like water off a duck's back.

"I am, believe me." Lucifer sighed. "So many questions I could answer … but you're a stubborn little thing, so you'll sit there and pretend like you're not dying to know Sam's big fat secret. Fact is, it's all you're thinking about." His tone shifted. "Sam's not quite Sam, but he won't tell you why. Is it you? Is it the baby? Does he regret it all? Why won't he confide in you? Maybe he just doesn't want you anymore. You know, now that you're knocked up. Damaged goods." He leaned forward a little, catching her scowl. "You think you're a big bad hunter, but all you are is an insecure girl who fucked a werewolf once upon a time. Sure, you may be smart and figured it out, and you may have shot him, but you didn't kill him, did you, Rach?" Rachel's nostrils flared, hating how Lucifer was violating her mind. "No, your next boyfriend, Chris, had to do it. Little Rachel was way too emotional. Landed the bullet in the doggie's shoulder. Couldn't perform when she needed to." He laughed. "Why do you think Sam's kept you locked up? Oh sure, he can blame the pregnancy, but the fact of the matter is, you're a liability, sweetheart. Brought into the fold by guilt, but a really nice bed warmer."

Rachel glared over at Lucifer, unable to settle her pulse. Her life was an open book to him, and she couldn't stop him. "I'll gag you if I have to," she warned.

"Nah. You won't." Lucifer languidly looked her over with an appreciative smile. "You'd never dare to get that close to the devil. Because deep down, you're just a scared little girl with really bad Daddy issues who will wait on the sidelines for big, strong Sammy Dubs to come home and save the day. Pathetic."

With a growl, she stood, grabbing the angel blade on the desk and moving behind Lucifer. She snagged his hair, yanking his chin up and exposing more of his neck. She rested the blade against it. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered to him in his ear. "But I know you're afraid of us. Even of my baby."

"Hah," Lucifer laughed dryly. "The Brady Bunch doesn't scare me. Neither do you or your little half-baked dinner roll. In fact, I essentially own the little nugget, so you _really_ should be scared of me. You know, if you ever want to see him after you give birth." Lucifer's lips curled into a smile as he felt Rachel's grip loosen. The blade moved from his neck, his hair released.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, coming to stand in front of him, her grip firm around the blade.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Oh, darn. And I promised Sam I wouldn't tell you. Gosh. I'm an asshole."

Rachel shook her head, moving away from Lucifer. "Whatever you say, I know it's only a lie intended on making me turn against Sam."

"Is it, though?" Lucifer countered. "I mean, think about it: Sam's been acting weird ... well, weirder than usual, gets even weirder when I mention solving an 'issue' involving me, but _I'm_ the liar?" He scoffed. "Come on, Rach. You're way smarter than that." He paused. "Very smart, in fact. Which is why Arioch wanted to get you knocked up. You would've made a great nephilim host. Too bad it didn't work, really. Could've had a real champ in league with Jack. But hey, Sam slipped one past the goalie, and bam—he makes a kid with powerful demon blood from birth." He shrugged. "It works. I mean, it kinda has to now that you know me. I probably wouldn't be able to trick you into cooking up a Nephilim of mine. So, Junior Winchester is a good substitute."

"My son is not yours," Rachel growled. "And he never will be."

"Uh, wrong. Sam kinda put a kink in his contract with me over him. You know, by kidnapping me, draining my grace, and threatening to kill me. So, yeah. The kid is totally mine."

Rachel hated herself for asking, but couldn't hold it in. "What do you mean, 'contract?'"

"Riiiiight, Sam didn't tell you. Awkward." Lucifer nodded. "Well, if you got over your whole, 'I don't need anything from you' thing, then you'd be able to know."

With a swallow, Rachel eyed him. "Say I wanted to listen to you for a minute. How would the story go?"

"Uh-uh," Lucifer smirked. "No freebies."

Rachel scoffed. "Well, I sure as hell am not giving you anything."

He shrugged. "No incentive, no secrets."

Shaking her head, Rachel returned to the desk. "I don't need your bullshit anyway."

"Too bad. Could've told you all about Mommy and Daddy as a bonus, too." He looked her over. "You know, who they really were, and why they made a crossroads deal. Wouldn't be nice to know why they sacrificed their lives for you?"

Rachel couldn't fight the tremble that coursed through her body as she stared back at Lucifer. Sam had warned her not to talk to him, and for good reason. She had no idea if anything he said, or would say, was true, but every bit of her ached to know the secrets he dangled in front of her like delicious carrots. "What do you want from me?" she dared to ask, hating herself for it.

Lucifer smiled. "I want you to leave Sam."


	30. Chapter 30

**_S13 E21 "Beat The Devil" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

Rachel eyed Lucifer. "Oh really? And why's that?"

"Don't act like you haven't been struggling in your whirlwind relationship." Lucifer's smile was smug. "You guys moved super fast. No one would blame you if you left him."

"I'm _not_ leaving him," Rachel replied. "So you can take whatever your little plan is and stick it up your ass."

Lucifer's laugh made Rachel nauseous. "I really can't get enough of you." He watched her sit back down at the desk. "I get it. It's a tall order. But, what if leaving him gave him back his life?"

After a moment of silence, Rachel turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Sam's gotten himself into a pretty sticky situation. I can unstick him if you agree to leave him. No forwarding address."

"Why would that benefit you?"

"It would tear Sam apart, which would be pretty satisfying. I wouldn't mind seeing him knocked down a few pegs. Tit for tat. Can't say I'm above being petty."

"And if I don't?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Then he'll eventually kill himself to keep you and the baby alive." He looked her over, seeing her shock. "See, Sammy made me a deal a couple months ago when you were good as dead in the hospital. His life for yours, essentially. You leave for good now, I'll wipe his slate clean. And, as a freebie, I'll tell you all about Mom and Dad."

Rachel shook her head. "You're nothing but a liar."

"Oh, come on!" Lucifer sighed. "For crap sake, you saw how he reacted before he left. Obviously we've got a little thing going. This denial is getting ridiculous. Let's just skip all that and cut right down to the heart of it—you need me." He smiled. "You skip town, stay under the radar for ... forever … and I'll release him. Otherwise, he eventually dies because of you."

With a quiver to her lip, Rachel focused down on the book in front of her. She had no idea whether she could believe Lucifer or not. But if he was telling the truth, then she could protect Sam from a deadly path he took on her behalf. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't." Lucifer watched her with satisfaction. "But, I'll clue you in on something, because you're so gosh-darn cute. A little side effect of his contract would make him drink demon blood." He nodded. "Unusual, I know. Comes with the territory. Anyway, have you seen him nursing a flask lately?" Rachel remained silent, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He tilted his head toward the hall. "Go check it out. I'm clearly not going anywhere."

Hesitantly, Rachel stood from her seat, her curiosity overtaking her. It would explain the blood on his pillow, and the blood on his lip. It would also explain the flask. With a glance back at Lucifer, she quickly tore off for their room, attacking his bedside drawer for the flask she saw him with in the Colorado hotel. She uncapped it, stunned when dark red blood poured out from it. Her heart stopped, her jaw slack. "No," she whispered desperately, tightening the cap to the flask and throwing it in his drawer, not bothering to close it.

Lucifer was telling the truth.

* * *

Rowena came back into the library, surprised that Lucifer was alone. "What have you done with her, you infernal rat?" she growled.

"Nothing," he replied indignantly. "Why would I want to hurt Junior's oven? She just went to check on a lead about Sammy I gave her." Rowena ignored him and took a seat at the desk. "So, back to just you and me, sweets. How about another song, eh?" he asked, receiving a glare from her in response. He sang another round of Camptown Races, laughing as he got to the end. "One more time!" He looked over at Rowena. "Hey, come on, Red. I'm just trying to have a good time with you. Like last time." He paused. "You remember that? When I surprised you at your hotel room?" Rowena did her best to ignore him, feeling unable to fully do so. "Oh. I mean, I even wanted you to put up a fight. I wanted a little bit of a tussle. But … you froze. You choked. So I choked ya."

Rowena gritted her teeth, trying to even her breathing. "What was that like?" Lucifer asked. "Burning to death? You know, I can't get that smell out of my nose. That … ashy reek of burnt up ginger." He laughed heartily as she glared at him.

"Shut your mouth!" Rowena snarled, rushing over to him and grabbing him by the hair. "You want to get inside my head? Twist the knife?" she asked. "Two can play that game. Do you know what your grace is making possible right now? A heartfelt family reunion of Sam, Dean, Cas, Mary, and your very own son, Jack."

Lucifer's expression shifted dramatically, the realization of knowing Jack's whereabouts flooding over him and stirring his anger. They knew all along. And they didn't say a word. His fingers flexed against his cuffs. "That's right," Rowena continued, pointing to the rift. "Your wee boy's over there, and he'll be so glad to see his three fathers. Of course, as far as he's concerned, they are his father. And you?" She released his head with a jolt. "You're nothing to him. Or me. Or anyone."

His venomous rage fueling his strength, Lucifer broke free of his bonds, immediately taking hold of Rowena's neck, controlling her through his power as his eyes glowed red. "Aw, Red," he chastised, "you shouldn't have made me mad. Step into my office." He shoved her back through the air against the far wall, crushing her into the bricks.

* * *

Meanwhile, as Rachel was about to storm back out to Lucifer, a sudden jolt of white light flashed through her eyes. She cried out, holding her throbbing temple as the powerful surge of brightness filled her vision. She leaned forward, collapsing to her knees on the ground under the intense pressure of her vision. Each vision she had got progressively clearer, as if the ability was developing alongside her child as he grew:

 _Sam, Dean, Castiel, Gabriel, and two other people—a man and a young woman—were shining flashlights through a dark cavern-like space. They were tense, on edge as they flicked their lights across the walls and crevices. Weapons at the ready, the brothers stalked through the darkness, coming to an open area. Light spilled from above through a circular hole, water dripping into a small pool below it._

 _Dean checked the passage. "Hey, we got a blocked passage over here. We need to move some rocks." Castiel and Gabriel crossed to the other side of the cave, beginning to unload rocks from their path._

 _As they worked, a low growling noise rumbled in the darkness. Soon, chaos unfolded—misshapen creatures leaped from the shadows, attacking the unnamed man and woman, and one at Sam. Soon, everyone was fighting a ravenous creature, Dean pinned up against rock by one while Sam attempted to kill one holding him by his left arm._

 _Another creature latched onto Sam's right arm before Sam could make a move, their inhuman strength taking him to the ground onto his knees. "Sammy!" Dean shouted across from his brother, barely keeping the creature on himself away from his face._

" _Dean!" Sam groaned back, his voice strained as he fought his captors. One creature pushed Sam's head to the side, exposing his neck. Sam cried out as the creature sunk its mouth into it, releasing it a moment later. Blood spurt from deep puncture wounds, rushing streams raining down onto his shirt and the ground. With a paled gasp, Sam was knocked to his back, his body limp as the two creatures dragged him away into a dark path deep within the belly of the cave._

Rachel screamed, opening her eyes and panting as she stared at the bedroom floor. Her focus immediately shifted when she heard a slam in the library. Guilt and fear flooded her for leaving Lucifer unattended, and she rushed back into the room, seeing Rowena in Lucifer's hold. Eyes wide, she tried to intercept, but was tossed to the nearest wall with a flick of Lucifer's wrist, bound to it by his power. "So, was I right?" He waited, seeing her tightened look. "Hah. Told ya so," he said to her with a smirk, still holding Rowena in place.

Rachel squirmed under his grip. "Let her go!"

"Shh. Don't strain yourself, Preggo."

"Leave her alone!"

Lucifer shrugged. "Okay. Say yes to my deal, and I'll throw the witch's life in. A nice big potluck of saving people and learning about yourself. What do you say, Rach?"

"Rowena," Rachel shuddered, "Sam is in trouble. Please find a way to help him."

"Rachel, whatever tricks he's up to, don't listen to him!" Rowena warned through a raspy voice.

Lucifer tightened his grip on Rowena, silencing her before she could continue. He shook his head, clucking his tongue at Rowena. "But see, _this_ is what happens when you get on my bad side." He looked Rachel over. "So is it a yes, sugar? Because I've really got to get going here. If it's not, I'll just snap her neck and be on my way."

"Yes," Rachel stammered, tears filling her eyes. She knew what she saw. What he said was the truth. She had to protect Sam from himself, and she couldn't let Rowena die. There was no other choice.

"Excellent." He sighed, suddenly looking bored. "Okay, so … Mom was a rebellious angel. Dad was a human. They hooked up, and she got pregnant. Whoops. Big no-no for Pops, because out popped you nine months later, a nephilim. Mom got her juice taken away while she was pregnant, which made you just human, but Pops still wanted all three of you dead. So, Mom and Dad made a deal with Azazel to have him kill off the armies hunting you down in exchange for their souls. They tossed you at the Lentzs after you were born, Azazel collected his dues, and here you are in all your fallen former half-angel glory. Boom. Your lineage—your own personal Ellis Island."

Rachel's face paled; her lips parted. "What?" she whispered.

Lucifer was unfazed. "Yep. Okay, so vacay time. Don't worry, I'll pack you a bag. Not your phone, though, because you'll be off the grid. Sorry if you've got a good score on Candy Crush. Thems the breaks."

"No, Rachel!" Rowena barely managed to say through Lucifer's grip.

"Say goodbye to the Wicked Witch." He raised his hand, readying his fingers for a snap. "I'll check up on you in a bit, Rach. Safe travels." Before Rachel could speak, Lucifer snapped his fingers, making her disappear.

"You scoundrel!" Rowena growled. "What have you done with her?!"

Lucifer looked back at her. "Sent her away."

"To where?!"

"Don't worry. It's not like she'll care about Sam anymore anyway. Not without her memories of him."

Rowena gasped. "You snake. You didn't."

"Yep. Totally did. Sam earned it. She'll wake up from a coma in a hospital somewhere as if the last six months of her life didn't happen. Except for getting knocked up. That's when I come in, whip up a little magic love connection, and I get the current kid, plus another before it kills her."

"Sam will murder you," Rowena spat, paled in dread for Sam and Rachel.

Lucifer shrugged. "He can try." He leaned in a bit. "But here's the thing, Red: I totally lied to Rach about keeping you alive. So, I'd worry about yourself right now. You know, you and Gabe kicked me while I was down." He swiped his hand across his neck, healing himself. "I didn't have any fight. I didn't have anything to live for. Hell, even Sam's kid wasn't really enough of an incentive. But you?" He pointed at her as he choked her. "You gave me something to fight for again. My boy. So for that, I'm going to be quick."

"Defendatur!" Rowena commanded, blasting Lucifer off of herself, directly back into the rift. She collapsed to the ground when Lucifer disappeared. She panted, seated on the ground, gasping for air as she stared at the rift and the empty spot next to the bowl with wide eyes. "Bollocks," she whispered.

* * *

Rowena moved to the desk, calmly picking up her spell book and packing it into her bag. "Fine," she said to herself quietly, "this isn't how you wanted things to work out, especially not with the lass disappearing without her full mind. But thanks to you, Sam and Dean will be trapped in some sort of nightmare universe with the Devil himself. And you're the only person who might be able to devise a way to keep the door back home open for them. But …" She put on her coat and gathered her bag, stepping away from the desk and the rift toward the door. "Au revoir, bon voyage, not my problem."

Feeling more than guilty, Rowena sighed, turning back to the desk. "Bollocks!" she growled, heading back to the desk, slamming her book on the surface and opening it, jabbing her finger at the text. "Bums bollocks!" She flopped back into her seat. Rachel was gone, Rowena with no earthly clue as to where she was, and Lucifer was in the Apocalypse World, taking the doorway back into their world with him. Tears brimmed from her eyes. "Bloody bollocks!" she shuddered, letting them fall.


	31. Chapter 31

**_S13 E21 "Beat The Devil" & S13 E22 "Exodus" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

Sam lay lifeless within the depths of the tunnel, a heavy metal exhaust fan squeaking overhead as it churned. With a sudden gasp, Sam grunted as he sat up, sucking in deep breaths as he got his bearings. He pawed at his neck, pulling away blood on his fingertips, but not feeling any punctures. Panting, he looked around, standing with a groan as he tried to see what he could from the dim light of the glow stick still attached to his jacket.

As he turned, he gasped, seeing Lucifer's face lit up by a flashlight. "Boo!" Lucifer laughed. "Hey, Sammy."

"No," Sam breathed, shocked.

"Yeah," Lucifer said with a sigh. "I mean, you could do the whole 'pinch yourself, rub your eyes' thing … or, you could put on your big boy pants and cut right to the realization that, yep—it's me."

Sam's brow creased. "Y-You brought me back."

Lucifer stood. "I did. You're welcome."

"Why?"

"Oh, well, I'm getting to that."

"The rift." Sam's mind whirled, eyes widening. "Rowena. Rachel." He looked at Lucifer, his stomach sickening. "I swear to God, if you—"

"Relax," Lucifer interrupted. "And please, don't involve Dad, 'kay? I didn't lay a finger on Rachey-Poo. Trust me, I wanted to. She looks so soft."

"And Rowena?" Sam growled.

"Oh, she's okay. I mean, I was gonna kill her, but she blasted me here before I had a chance to, so … It's great. Self defense. But, uh, I was coming here anyway."

"But we drained you."

"So how did I have the juice to pull off my little Lazarus trick?" Lucifer concluded for him. "That's a long story. But basically, I was tracking you here, and then I came across a handful of Michael's angels, and I ... ate 'em." He paused. "Guess it's not really a long story, is it?"

Sam's jaw stiffened. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Lucifer asked back. "I want what everyone wants. I want a personal apology from Pop. I want re-run free, year round episodes of _Drag Race_."

"Yeah, got it," Sam snapped. "Okay. Right. We're done here."

Sam moved away from Lucifer, grabbing his bag. "Are you going?" Lucifer asked. He held up his flashlight. "Here. It's dark out there." Sam took out his own flashlight with a glare, clicking it on. He turned, jumping back as the beam revealed the wall of ravenous vampires waiting for him at the tunnel exit. "Yeah, they're sorta … sorta all over there, and I'm holding them back," Lucifer said. "They're just waiting for a little snap of the fingers, but I didn't want 'em flooding in here and eating ya again. Not until after we finish our convo."

Furious, Sam turned back to Lucifer. "What do you want?!"

Lucifer looked him over, satisfied at the sight of Sam's frustration. "I want what you already have—a relationship with my son." Sam shook his head. "Okay," Lucifer admitted, "there was a time that I would, you know, just grab him, but … I've grown."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, sure you have."

"I have, Samuel." Lucifer eyed him. "I want my son, and you're gonna help me."

"How?"

"Well, I don't feel like he'll give me a chance, unless I come bearing gifts. Yep." He poked Sam's chest. "Boop. Yep. That's you." He sighed. "Look, Sammy, I'm not asking you to like it, or like me. All I'm asking is that you acknowledge the truth—that I was the one who brought you back to life, that I was the one who lifted you from darkness and into the light. Okay?" Sam shut his eyes, looking away. "Apocalypse World, Michael's armies—you really think you and your family can handle that stuff alone? You need me."

Sam looked back to Lucifer. "And what if I say no?"

Lucifer smirked. "Alright, let me just make this really, really, _really_ easy for you. Easy enough for even you to understand, Sammy. You screwed our arrangement with Rachel by draining my grace and threatening to kill me, so I plan to collect on Junior, raise him to be my demon blood son, and use Rachel to pop out another nephilim. That is, unless you help me."

Sam's nostrils flared. "You wouldn't dare to."

Lucifer scoffed. "Uh, yeah. Considering how shitty you've treated me since healing her, it's what I'm owed." He stepped closer with a cool gaze. "Besides, if you won't help me with my son, why should I help you with yours?" He smiled. "I'm getting Jack one way or another. The only question is, are you coming with?" He shone his flashlight at the vampires. "Or that? Your move, champ."

Sam's gut churned as he looked at the vampires, thinking about how Rachel's and his son's lives hung in the balance. He would have to sacrifice Jack's safety to keep his own son safe. It didn't seem fair or right. Still, he knew Lucifer was far more than capable of hurting Rachel. He couldn't risk it.

"Fine," he snarled, turning back and eyeing Lucifer. "I'll bring you to him. But I'm done with our contract. Clean slate. Rachel remains healthy and safe, my son healthy and safe."

Holding back his amusement over the deception, Lucifer nodded. "Sure. I can do a clean slate."

Sam stepped closer. "I mean it. I will rip you to shreds."

Lucifer grinned. "Consider it already done."

* * *

The remainder of the crew, less Sam, made it back to camp after running into Mary and Jack. It was perfectly good fortune, except Sam was gone, which made it horrid. Dean could barely move under the weight of his grief, mechanical as he processed to the cabins.

Once they settled in, each seemed to disperse, handling their emotions over Sam's tragic death differently. Jack paced, his brow knit as he denied the very evident truth. "No," he murmured, mostly to himself, "he can't be dead."

Castiel tried to intercept him. "Jack—"

"Couldn't you bring him back?" Jack asked, stopping in front of Castiel. He slapped away Castiel's gentle hand that rested on his shoulder. "Why didn't you bring him back?" He glared over at Gabriel.

"I'm not strong enough," Gabriel replied solemnly.

"If we could've, we would've," Castiel assured. "I'm so sorry."

"But … He …" Jack's eyes widened, catching Castiel's thoughts. "He has someone? And … a child?"

"Jack—"

"Sam has a child?!" Jack repeated, eyes wide. He paled, his breath quickening. "A son. And now he's dead. His girlfriend." He looked into Castiel's eyes. "Her child is fatherless."

Gabriel wet his lips, focusing down on the ground. Castiel avoided Jack, grimacing as he thought of how devastated Rachel would be.

"This isn't right," Jack whispered, tears running down his cheeks.

Before Castiel could attempt a poorly-soothing platitude, Jack was gone. Castiel drew in a deep breath, rubbing his brows. "Does Mary know?" he heard Gabriel ask.

Castiel looked to the other angel. "No."

Gabriel nodded, looking away. "Kid's right," he muttered. "It isn't fair."

Just outside the far cabin, Dean gathered supplies, gritting his molars together as he stuffed his bag with angry jabs. "We have to go back," he concluded, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Get his body."

As he stalked away from Mary, he stopped, shocked as he saw Sam walk toward him. His neck and shirt was soaked in blood, his jeans dirty. He walked with a bit of effort, though the struggle melted away when he caught Dean's eyes.

Jack returned, his timing perfect to see Sam approach. A smile spread across his face as he watched, relieved as he watched Sam approach. "Sam," he whispered.

Mary, Castiel, Gabriel, and Dean wore shocked expressions, the surprise only increasing when they saw Sam's face shift, seeing his eyes shut. They heard the gravel crunch behind him, their eyes flicking to Lucifer, who strolled in with a smile.

"Hello, son," Lucifer said, looking to Jack.

Sam moved to Mary, embracing her with a sigh. He saw Dean hesitantly approach, meeting his eyes as he pulled up from his hug. "Sam?" Dean asked in disbelief. "What happened?"

"He, uh …" Sam straightened, clearing his throat. "He brought me back."

"It's what I do," Lucifer added with a sheepish shrug.

"It's _not_ what you do," Castiel sneered. "How did you get in here?"

"VIP pass. I'm with the band." Lucifer looked to all of them. "Come on! Shouldn't you be thanking me? I gave Sammy an extra life! I mean, that's great for Junior, right?" Sam caught Mary's confused look out of the corner of his eye, choosing to keep his focus on Lucifer, who gestured to Gabriel. "Besides, with what my little bro here being a hot mess, I figured you'd need me. So I'm here to join the team." Lucifer stepped to Jack. "Your name is Jack."

"And yours is Lucifer," Jack replied, analyzing him.

"No, no, no, no," Dean growled, stalking toward them. He jabbed his finger at Lucifer. "You don't talk to him." He looked to Jack. "And you don't listen to him."

"Um, don't you think that's his choice?" Lucifer asked.

"No," Castiel replied.

"Are _you_ trying to keep me from _my_ son?"

"Well, this is Kelly Kline's son. He's nothing like you."

Lucifer analyzed Jack and Castiel. "Don't say he's nothing like me. I'm the only one who understands him. This power he has? I'm powerful, dangerous, ruthless." He paused. "In the best sense, though," he assured Jack.

"No," Dean argued. "Kill him," he said to Gabriel.

Lucifer chuckled. "He can't. He's not strong enough."

"Dean," Gabriel murmured, uneasy.

"You've got the blade," Dean argued.

"Stop it," Jack urged in a low tone.

"He's the devil! Kill him!"

"Stop it!" Jack shouted before flapping his wings and disappearing.

Dean sighed. "Well, great. Does that when he's scared." He glared at Lucifer. "Way to go, 'Dad!'"

"I'll go look for him," Gabriel murmured.

"I don't understand all the hostility," Lucifer said. "I mean, I fixed Junior's dad." He eyed them. "You need me. I am a walking weapon. I know this Michael. Heck, I beat him. So how about a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T?"

Castiel moved to Dean's backpack, unzipping it and withdrawing a pair of angel cuffs. "Hmm. In case your innate evil overwhelms this newfound team spirit, you won't mind wearing these then, will you?" Lucifer sighed. "You're not at full power. They should hold you."

Sam watched as Lucifer met his eyes for a prolonged moment, baring his wrists for Castiel with a tight look. "Slap 'em on," Lucifer said, arching his brow as he continued to stare down Sam.

As Castiel cuffed him, Sam asked, "So if you're here, is the rift closed?"

"No, it's open," Lucifer replied. "I left Rowena some grace. So you have, I'm thinking … 31 hours, give or take?" he shrugged.

Castiel took charge of Lucifer, leaving the others to their own devices. Sam headed back to the nearest cabin, his mind whirling as he thought about the deal he made with Lucifer, and about getting to the rift in time. If he didn't, he'd never see Rachel again. He'd never hold his son. He plugged in 31 hours on his phone's timer, gritting his molars. They would make it. They had to.

Sam turned when he heard footfalls approaching behind him, seeing Dean as he stowed his phone into his jacket pocket. "Hey," he murmured, pained. "Listen, I'm sorry about all this." He kept his hands buried, fiddling with the seams on the insides of his coat nervously.

"Are you good?" Dean asked, pausing in front of him.

Sam nodded. "I'm alive. Yeah."

"Well, then you got nothing to apologize for." Dean wrapped Sam in a tight hug, one Sam didn't know he so desperately needed. It was a relief to be reunited with him, with everyone. "I thought I lost you, man." They parted, Sam running his hand over his face. "What are we gonna do about Lucifer?"

"I'll handle him," Sam concluded. "I will, Dean," he assured, seeing Dean's hesitance. "Let me handle him."

"Okay," Dean said. "But this is the part where you explain what he said back at the bunker."

Sam searched Dean's eyes. "It's done," he murmured. He swallowed when he saw Dean looking back at him, unfazed. Sam sniffed. "When … When Rachel went into the hospital after Asmodeus, I … I summoned him."

Dean's eyes rounded. "You did what?"

"Gabriel couldn't heal her," Sam argued in a hushed tone. "I couldn't just let her die, Dean!"

"So you made a deal," Dean concluded, jaw stiff. "What was it?"

Sam ran his fingers through his dirty hair. "At first, it was to give him the baby."

"What?!"

"I didn't know it was mine!"

"It was still Rachel's," Dean rebutted, taking a step closer.

"I know," Sam admitted, looking down. "But I couldn't … She had to live, Dean." He looked back up. "I couldn't let her die."

"So, you're giving Lucifer your son," Dean snarled.

"No," Sam corrected. "I revised the deal when Cas told us he was mine."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Revised it to what?"

Sam hesitated, which Dean didn't fail to notice. "He wanted me to be his demon hit man," Sam confessed. "So, I killed the ones he told me to." He paused, wetting his lips. "With my power."

The silence hung between them, thick and suffocating. "So, you're back on the tap," Dean said.

"I …" Sam sighed. "I was. For about two months."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean growled. He drew in a deep breath. "How bad is it?"

"That's the thing. Since Lucifer brought me back, I haven't … I don't crave it. I think I'm clean again."

"You sure?" Sam nodded. Dean shut his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Does Rachel know?"

"Not yet. I couldn't tell her all that, then leave."

"When you go back through that rift, it's the first thing you're doing." He eyed Sam. "She deserves that much."

"She does," Sam agreed.

He watched as Dean turned away in silence, seeing him pause. "Go get cleaned up. Then let's go get Mom and Jack and get out of here," he said.

Sam took up his bag and went inside the cabin to wash up and change, some of the weight lifted off his chest. The harder part was still to come. He had no idea if Rachel would accept him despite what he had done, but he earnestly prayed she would. He didn't know what he would do if she didn't.

* * *

Mary checked on her gun in silence, alone as she thought about what Sam had failed to explain. What did Lucifer mean by "Junior?" Surely Sam would've told her … but she was gone for a while. Did he …?

"Hey Mama," Lucifer said as he paused in front of the cabin, Castiel grimacing as he gripped him. "Miss me?" More than frustrated, Mary decked Lucifer in the face, knocking him back. "That's a yes?"

"Let's go," Castiel grumbled as Dean and Sam approached behind her, Sam sporting a clean outfit and new jacket.

"Nice shot," Dean smirked.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam added as Mary turned to them. "Hey, um, we really should go look for Jack and head back home. Before it's too late."

"I … Boys, about that …" Mary drew in a deep breath as her hands smoothed her jacket. She sighed. "I'm not going back.

Dean was flabbergasted. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I fought beside these people. I respect them. I respect their cause. You can't expect me to just abandon them."

Sam's brow creased. "No, Mom, that's not … You heard what Lucifer said. We have 31 hours—"

"Sam," Mary said gently, stopping him. "Dean." She looked between her son's. "I know what you went through to come find me. But these people are being slaughtered. They need me here."

"No, _we_ need you, Mom," Dean argued. "We do. Hell, Sam especially needs you right now. He's …" he paused, realizing his error.

Sam drew in a shaky breath. "Mom, I …" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Mom, I have a girlfriend. And … she's pregnant." He saw Mary's shock. "I'm gonna have a son, Mom. I need him to have his family. His whole family."

"You're having a child?" she whispered.

Sam nodded. "I know it's selfish for me to want you there, but I do. I want Rachel to have as much family as I can give her. She … doesn't have any. And I want my son to know you."

"It's not selfish," Dean corrected stiffly. "She's our mother. Of course you should want her to know Rachel and your son." Dean didn't give Mary a chance to react. "We've been mopping up the world for years. _Years._ We've been knocked down, we've been possessed. We've lost friends, we've lost family. We've lost each other. And we never walk away, ever. And sometimes, we should've. Because not every fight everywhere can be won. Right?" He glanced to Sam. "Tell her."

Disappointment burned within, but Sam knew what he saw. He knew Mary was decided, even with the revelation about Robbie. "I think Mom made up her mind."

"See?" Dean said expectantly to her. He paused. "Wait, what?"

Sam looked to Dean. "Mom doesn't want to leave these people. So let's take them with us."

Dean was shocked. "They'll never leave their own. They'll never leave their cause," Mary argued.

"I'm not saying abandon the fight," Sam corrected. "I'm saying, we get them somewhere safe, and we _all_ figure out a way to take down Michael. Then once we do, they can come back and save their world."

Mary smiled up at him. Dean drew in a deep breath, his head dropping. "You'd do that for them?" Mary asked.

"Well," Dean said, "we got … what, nine busting out? What's a few more? How many are we talking?"

Mary paused, silently counting the number. "25?" she said hesitantly.

"Okay, well getting an extra 25 through that rift, that may not be possible."

Castiel approached them, each turning. "Hey, Cas," Sam said. "Any update on Jack?"

"He's back," Castiel sighed.

"Great, where is he?"

"He's with Lucifer."

Dean stormed over to Lucifer and Jack, Sam, and Castiel following behind him. "Hey!" Dean yelled, disrupting their conversation. "I told you no talking! And I told you no listening!"

Jack stood. "Dean, he's in chains."

"His mouth isn't! Should've gagged him."

"I need to know about my powers, about my family."

"Jack, we _are_ your family," Castiel interrupted. "We've been protecting you. We've been honoring your mother's wishes. We're your family."

"Jack," Sam said, bitterness lacing his tone, "you have no idea who Lucifer really is."

"And I never will unless I talk to him," Jack replied.

Dean drew in a breath. "Jack—"

"Dean!" Jack snapped. "He's my father."

* * *

The next morning, with everyone at the old Singer Salvage reunited and readied to go back through the rift, Dean and Lucifer were able to get the bus operational. Still, Sam began to panic, realizing how close they were cutting things. "Hey guys! We're down to one hour and fifty-seven minutes!" he called out to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"Alright," Gabriel added, both scurrying away to prepare for their trip back.

Sam kept an eye on people as they loaded into the bus, his brow creasing as he saw Jack leaving in the opposite direction. He chased after him. "Jack? Jack!" He jogged toward him, coming to a stop as Jack faced him. "Hey. Where are you headed?"

From the bus, Lucifer saw the interaction, quickly leaving the driver's seat. "Hold up," he said, exiting the bus.

"Before I go, there's something I have to do. Something I promised myself I'd do. Kill Michael."

"Jack, you can't … Look," Sam said, stumbling over his words, anxious as he thought about the rift closing—the only way back to Rachel and his son. The only way for them all to be safe. "We have to—" He paused, seeing Lucifer come to stand next to him. "We have to get these people to the rift. We'll seal Michael up and leave him here."

"No," Jack argued. "Look, I've seen what he's done, the people he's killed. He deserves to be punished."

Lucifer shrugged up his jacket sleeves with confidence. "Yeah, I got this," he said to Sam, who scowled. "See, I think what Sam's trying to say in his own … super simplistic and silly way … is maybe you should give this a rethink. I mean, I know I've been encouraging you to take Michael out, but it ain't easy. I tried it. And if he catches you, then we're all gonna have to waste a lot of time trying to rescue you, and that puts pretty much everyone in danger. Look," he said, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder, "I know you think you're doing the right thing, but sometimes doing the right thing can go wrong."

Barely holding back his disgust, Sam waited for Jack's reply as Jack looked up at him. "My father makes a valid point."

Lucifer patted Jack. "Father," he emphasized to Sam in a whisper. "Good boy. Wanna come? Let's do this." He led Jack away with a big grin, looking back Sam, who was deflated as he watched. "Kids. You just gotta know how to talk to 'em, know what I mean? Don't worry. You'll get the whole parenting thing eventually. Hopefully."

The caravan left, Dean and Sam at the helm in an ATV while Lucifer and Castiel manned the bus of people behind them. Guns at the ready, everyone kept their eyes peeled for trouble as they crossed the rocky terrain back to the rift opening.

When they got to the rift, Sam jumped out of the vehicle, eyes wide as he saw the flickering rift. "It's closing," he murmured. He turned back to the group. "We're running out of time! Come on!"

Back in their world, Rowena barely kept her eyes open, straining as she kept repeating the spell. "Koth Munto Nuntox, Koth Munto Nuntox …"

In Apocalypse World, the rift strengthened, glowing brighter. "Oh, hell yeah," Dean said with a sigh.

"How's that possible?" Sam asked.

"Lucifer!" Dean shouted. "Let's go!"

The caravan quickly processed to the rift, Sam and Dean waiting as they let Castiel and Ketch go first. "Cas, Ketch—show 'em how it's done," Dean said.

"Follow me," Ketch instructed.

"Mom, Bobby, Charlie—you're with them," Sam ordered, watching as they passed.

"See you on the other side, bitches," Charlie grinned.

Ketch was the first to break through. He met Rowena's eyes, both surprised. "Hmm," they said to each other, Ketch walking away and making room.

Jack was the next to go through. "Whoa, hold up," Sam said, pushing Lucifer back as he tried to follow him.

"I wanna be with my son," Lucifer argued.

"We need you and Gabriel here in case something goes wrong," Sam ordered. "Wasn't that they whole point of you being on the team?"

Mary, Bobby, Charlie, and Castiel came through the rift, Rowena surprised as she saw the number of people making it to their world. "Rowena," Castiel sighed.

"About bloody time!" Rowena shouted, keeping her hand up for the spell. "Koth Munto Nuntox!"

"Alright, let's go! Single file!" Sam instructed, watching as more people went through. When it was down to a few others, Dean, himself, Lucifer, and Gabriel, they heard a whizzing noise from above, looking to the skies. A huge fireball descended on them, knocking men to the ground and killing them.

Everyone held their guns up, grimacing as a high pitched ringing filled their ears. They saw Michael, wings extended, approaching them. "Gentlemen," he said with casual strides. Lucifer approached him. "Lu. You don't really want to try this again, do ya?"

"Um, yeah," Lucifer replied, his eyes glowing red before he launched his power toward his brother. It impacted but didn't barely affect Michael, who threw two blasts of his own at Lucifer, knocking him to the ground.

Michael smiled, looking up and growing surprised as he saw Gabriel. "Can it be? Gabriel?"

Gabriel looked back at the brothers. "Go. I can buy some time."

"Gabriel, don't!" Sam argued.

"All I did on Earth was run. I'm not running anymore." He looked at them as he took a few steps toward Michael. "Go!"

Dean turned, Sam following behind as they approached the rift. Still, they paused, watching as Gabriel revealed his angel blade to Michael, who took out his own and attacked. Gabriel was no real match for Michael's punches, too weak to truly get ahead. He landed solid hits, but Michael took control, knocking Gabriel's angel blade free and shoving his own into Gabriel's stomach.

"Gabe, no!" Dean shouted, Sam holding him back.

"No!" Sam urged as they watched in horror. As Gabriel's body fell slack, Sam shoved Dean toward the rift. "Go! Go!" He watched as Dean went into the rift, turning back as he caught a glimpse of Michael.

Lucifer, injured and weak, approached Sam, his eyes on the rift. Sam intercepted him, barely holding back his rage for him. "Sam, what are you doing, man? I'm hurt. Please!"

"How'd you think this was gonna end?" Sam asked quietly, breath quickening. "You threaten my family, Rachel … my son. And you think I'm bringing you along? Think again." He violently shoved Lucifer away from the rift, knocking him to the ground. He gave one final hard glare at Lucifer before diving for the dying rift, entering just as it closed before Michael could follow.


	32. Chapter 32

**_S13 E22 "Exodus" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

In the bunker, Sam looked around at the lively conversations, whiskey in hand, with a satisfied smile. He wanted so badly to go wake Rachel and kiss her, but Rowena said she was "dead tired" and "desperately needed rest," so he occupied himself by watching the others. "It kept closing," Rowena said with a sigh. "I couldn't keep it open another five seconds."

Sam smiled. "Well, you did it, Rowena. You got us all here." He looked around, seeing Charlie and Ketch talking with grins. "We owe you one."

"Don't think I won't collect."

Sam glanced toward the hall to where his room was. "I can't stand it," he murmured. "I need to see her. I'm gonna go wake her up."

"No!" Rowena said quickly, swallowing when Sam looked back down at her. "Trust me. The poor lass is in desperate need of rest. Just … wait a while." Her guilt gnawed at her, but she couldn't tell Sam as soon as he came through that his girlfriend and son were missing, with no hope of finding them or her knowing him, all because of Lucifer. She didn't have the heart. He would find out, of course, but he deserved a bit of time to relax. Or, at least, that's what she told herself to justify her cowardice.

Sam headed over to Dean, who was talking with Castiel. "Gabe. He had been on the run for so long. He sacrificed himself. He was the reason Sam and I got out. We owe him everything."

"What about Lucifer?" Castiel asked.

"Sam handled it," Dean said, glancing to Sam.

Castiel gave Sam a hesitant look, and Sam nodded.

The group toasted and drank to the brothers, their fallen, and to uniting under the cause of killing Michael, the brothers not failing to notice Jack's sadness over Lucifer.

When the entire party dispersed, Sam downed the rest of his whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He slipped down the hall in silence, unable to bear not seeing Rachel anymore. With a quiet turn of the knob, Sam opened their bedroom door, seeing a small form under the blankets in the glow of the nightlight. He smiled wide, carefully stepping toward Rachel's side of the bed and squatting down next to her. "Baby girl," he whispered, gently peeling back the blankets. Only, his lips parted, eyes round as he saw the piled up clothes instead of the woman he loved.

Sam stood, heart racing as he burst into every room in the hall—even Dean's—his footfalls loud as he stormed back into the maps room. "Rowena!" he growled, enraged. "Where is she?!"

Dean stopped talking with Castiel, immediately concerned as he saw Sam's reaction. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"She's not here!" Sam shouted, his pulse skyrocketing.

"Who?" Dean's stomach knotted. "Rachel?"

"Yes," he snapped, glaring at Rowena, who stood and held her hands up in surrender as Sam charged toward her. "Where is she?"

"Samuel," Rowena whispered. "I … I couldn't stop it." Her eyes grew glassy. "I tried to warn her, but she didn't listen."

Sam stepped closer, his hands balling into fists. Dean and Castiel approached the scene, on edge. "Rowena, where is she?" Sam asked, his voice softening, but still stiff.

"I don't know," Rowena admitted. "I …" She shuddered. "She made a deal with Lucifer."

It was as if he was shot in the heart. His pulse stopped, and he forgot how to breathe. "What? Why?!"

"To free you from your contract," Rowena continued, sniffling. "He banished her. I've no idea where. And … He took her memories. She's still with child, but in a coma. He said she'll wake with no recollection of any of this. Or you."

Words wouldn't come, Sam's jaw falling slack. "No," he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks as he shook. Lucifer seemed so smug when he negotiated a "clean slate" with him. His stomach lurched. The son of a bitch had wiped her mind clean.

She was pained as she watched devastation overtake him. "I'm so sorry, Samuel. I didn't want you to know as soon as you got back. I was just …" Rowena was desperate for his forgiveness, knowing it wasn't something she'd likely receive right away, if at all. "I just wanted you boys to be happy for a moment."

A pin drop in another room could've been heard in the massive bunker through the dead silence. No one dared to move or speak. A long moment later, Sam swiped at his face, the shock wearing off. He turned on his heel, barreling toward the library, where his gear rested. He picked it up and slung it over his back, jaw ticking as he headed straight for the front door. "Sammy!" Dean shouted, grabbing his brother's shoulder before he could walk away from him. "Sam, listen—"

"No," Sam snarled, looking back at Dean. He saw his brother's eyes were also wet with tears. " _No one_ is stopping me, not even you. I _need_ to find her."

"We _will_ ," Dean assured gently, holding Sam's shoulder tighter, feeling his heart break for him. "We _will_ find her. I swear to you, we will. I won't stop until we do."

"Then let's go."

"No," Dean objected, halting Sam, who looked down at him in confused anger. "We do this the smart way. Rowena can use a tracking spell. We can pinpoint her location like we did with Gabe."

Sam shut his eyes, failing to contain his tears. Reality hit, crippling him. His bag slid off his shoulder in his defeat. "She's … and our son … Dean, she won't … She won't remember me."

"She will," Dean assured him gently, seeing Sam's lips tremble. "We will find her, and we will help her remember. I promise you." Sam buried his face into his hands. Dean pulled him into a tight hug, his own tears falling. "She's family, Sammy," Dean whispered, squaring his jaw as he cursed Lucifer in his mind. "We'll bring her back."

Seeing Sam's distress as the brothers separated, Ketch, Charlie, Jack, Bobby, and Mary approached, joining Castiel and Rowena. "Who's missing?" Bobby asked quietly.

"Rachel," Jack said with solemn realization as he read Sam's mind. "His pregnant girlfriend."

Mary's eyes widened. "Oh, Sam," she whispered, moving to him immediately and wrapping him in a tight embrace. Sam pressed into her shoulder as she smoothed his hair. "Shh. We will find her."

Ketch nodded. "I'll help," he offered quietly. He didn't fail to see Sam's surprised, yet stiff reaction as he straightened.

"Me too," Charlie said. "If a hot girl's involved, I'm there," she added with a small smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

"You ain't gotta ask me twice," Bobby agreed with a nod.

Jack approached Sam. "I can start looking now."

"No," Sam said quickly to Jack. "No. You stick with us. It's safest that way."

"He's right," Castiel agreed. He looked to Sam. "I'll go scout angel radio for what I can find. The rest of you work on devising another way."

Before they could argue, Castiel was gone. Sam sniffed, wiping his eyes as he gritted his molars. "Rowena," he said quietly, "we need a tracking spell."

"Aye," she said with a soft nod, disappearing into the library. "Come with me," she said to Ketch, Charlie, and Bobby, who followed after her, Dean and Mary remaining with Sam. With a soft nod, Dean reluctantly left them alone.

"How far along is she?" Mary asked when they were alone.

"Sixteen weeks," Sam replied, his fingers tracing over the ghostly curve of her womb as his hands remained by his sides.

"Do you have a picture of her?"

Sam realized what Mary was doing. She was attempting to relax him. "Yeah." He pulled out his phone, showing her the most recent one they took together.

Mary smiled, studying the picture of the tiny dark haired young woman that had captured her son's heart. In the picture, Rachel smiled and leaned her head on Sam's shoulder while Sam kissed her forehead and took the shot. "She's beautiful." She looked into her son's eyes. "It won't be long before you see her again."

Sam nodded and put his phone away, not believing her. It was too painful to be that optimistic. "Even if I do, Lucifer took her memories. She won't know who I am." He looked down. "She won't … She won't care to know who I am. Why would she?"

Mary gulped, the new revelation making her far less confident. "She will," she still assured. "It may take time, but she will. You've got to believe that."

"I …" He stopped, looking away. "I don't know what I believe anymore." Turning away from her, he ran his hand through his hair, his stomach sick. He couldn't wait for Rowena's spell. He couldn't sit around while she was out there. "I'm, uh, going to go shower."

"Okay," Mary replied, watching Sam walk away. She sighed heavily, heading toward the library. Dean stood, looking at Mary.

"Mom, where's Sam?" he asked.

"He said he was going to go shower," Mary replied.

Dean scoffed, immediately leaving the library with a grumble. He knew better. There was no way in hell Sam would rest right now without someone strong-arming him. "Sammy," he barked, catching Sam as he twisted the bunker front door knob open, his bag on his shoulder. "The hell do you think you're doing?"

"Finding my girlfriend and my son," Sam growled.

"Alright." Dean stalked up the stairs over to him, grabbing his shoulder and yanking the door shut. "Don't make me deck you, Sam." He gritted his teeth, searching Sam's bloodshot eyes. "There's an entire planet out there. She doesn't have a phone. She doesn't have her memories. The only way this is going to work is with a spell."

Sam's breath quickened, feeling trapped. "Dean, I can't sit here and pray some magic is right. I'm going."

"Oh yeah? And where are you going to? Huh?" Dean eyed his brother through his silence. "You don't have a clue where to begin, but you'll drive off like a madman anyway, and probably get yourself killed before you can even find her."

"You'd do the same," Sam growled.

"No, I wouldn't." Dean sighed. "I know you're hurting. But dammit, Sammy, you can't fly off the handle right now. Your girl and your son are depending on you to keep it together. So we are doing this my way, alright?" Dean searched his eyes. "Alright?"

Sam nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah. Alright."

* * *

It took the entire night and into early the next morning before a blip registered on the spell. Sam lifted his head from the table, blinking heavily as he focused on the map where the marbles had rotated to. "New York," he whispered. Of course Lucifer would send her there. It was where she was born and raised, and likely to run into people who would only confuse her further. "Dean!" Sam stood, staring down at the map as Dean came into the library, nursing a third cup of coffee. He hadn't slept all night, too afraid Sam would bolt when his guard was down.

"Rowena?" Dean asked, looking to the witch for confirmation.

"Seems fairly certain she's there," Rowena said after analyzing the results.

"She's from Scarsdale, so that's where I'll start," Sam said, picking up the bag he packed in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. Showered, fully dressed, and boots on, Sam was ready to leave, barely stopping long enough to see Mary walk in with Jack. "I'll call you when I get there," Sam said to Dean over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, brow wrinkling as he stopped him. "You're not going yourself."

"Yeah, I am," Sam replied with a scoff. "Dean, we've got nearly thirty new people to settle in here, and someone's got to help them. Someone also has to make sure they're safe."

"Sam, you shouldn't go alone," Mary agreed.

"Mom, these people need Dean," Sam argued. "We brought them here. Someone needs to help them."

"No, I agree," Mary explained. "I just mean, you should take someone with you. Someone who can have your back, in case this is a trap."

"Mom," Dean interrupted, "I'm not letting Sammy—"

"Your brother is right, Dean," she said firmly, looking to him. "I know you're close to Rachel, and the baby is your nephew, but you're needed here."

"I can go." Everyone looked up, seeing Ketch hovering in the entryway, finishing the second button on his back shirt. He smoothed himself out, holding Sam's gaze. "I can help keep him safe."

Sam's jaw ticked. "No."

"Sam," Ketch sighed, "now's not the time to bicker over the past." He stepped closer, eyeing him. "I happen to know a thing or two about memory wiping, and one of the things I know is that the longer you wait to fan the spark, the greater your odds become of losing."

"You beat her," Sam snarled, stepping toward her. "You bound her and gagged her."

"Which, I regret," Ketch replied, seeing the surprised reactions of the others who didn't know. "Look, we can choose to delay, and possibly seal her fate for her, or we can work together and bring her back here. The choice is yours."

Sam scoffed. "You're looking for redemption, and I'm not giving it to you."

"Sam," Dean murmured, surprising his brother, "outside of me or Cas, he's your best option. And we need Cas in the field."

With disgust, Sam glared over at Ketch. He rubbed his temple, hating the position he was in. He knew Mary was just trying to keep him safe, but having Ketch so close for so long for such an important task made him want to shoot something. "Be ready to leave in five minutes," Sam grumbled, turning away and tugging at his hair.

"No need," Ketch replied. "My bag is still packed, I'll go retrieve it."

As Sam watched him walk away, he contemplated bolting out the door and losing him, only stopped by Mary, who rested her hand on his jacket-covered forearm. "Sam," she said softly, "it'll all be okay."

"Yeah," Sam murmured, distracted. He sniffed, looking down at her. "Just be safe, alright?"

"I was just going to say the same thing to you," she smiled, reaching up and pressing a soft kiss on his cheek as Ketch returned to the library.

Dean approached Sam, still silently wrestling with not being by his brother's side. "Keep your head, okay?" he asked. "Rach and Wedgewood need it."

Sam gave him a tiny, sad smile. "Robbie," he corrected softly. "We … We were going to tell you when we got back. But his name is Robert Jonathan Winchester. Robbie for short."

Dean swallowed, a struggled smile curving his mouth as he fought his emotions. "For Bobby and Dad," he concluded, seeing Sam nod. "Robbie. It's perfect." Dean gave Sam a firm hug. "Bring them home, Sammy," he said softly to him.

"I will," Sam replied; as they separated, Sam caught the eyes of the others behind him. He looked from Charlie to Bobby and then to Jack, giving them a nod. "Be safe," he said, holding Jack's gaze longer than the others before heading for the door.

* * *

"Alright," Sam said to Ketch, buckling his seat belt in the driver's side of the classic car he took from the garage, "let's make something clear—I'm in charge. You do what I say, how I say, when I say. Got it?"

"Fine by me," Ketch replied, settling against the passenger seat. "No need for all your contempt."

Sam glared at him, shifting into drive. "I've got every need for it."

"As I said, what happened before, I regret. Given the circumstances, I'd hope you'd put it behind you."

"'Given the circumstances?'" Sam felt his blood boil. "Under what circumstances is it ever okay to hit a woman? Tell me that." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You know what? Don't tell me. Just sit there, shut up, and take the free ride you're getting only because I was required to bring you."

Ketch sighed, shifting in his seat. "You know, this will only work if utilize my knowledge."

"And what would that be?"

"Well, in my experience, there are different memory wiping levels. A spark of recognition, however small, is a good sign. We'll be able to tell more once she sees you, and we can judge her reactions. Regardless, you're going to want to break the walls slowly. I don't recommend barreling into things, lest you send her running for the hills with the oddity of it."

Sam scoffed, keeping his focus on the road. All he could think about was taking her into his arms and never letting go. Though he despised Ketch, he knew his advice was solid. Somewhere deep within, he had to find a way to take it.

* * *

Rachel's eyes blinked open at a painfully slow pace, each feeling as if it were weighed down by lead. The sterile hospital environment came into focus, white walls with blinking and beeping monitors surrounding her. Her brows furrowed; she felt the gentle push of oxygen into her nose through the tubes in place. Her hand reached up and felt her face, pulling out the tubes. Her heart raced as she twisted to sit up, freezing when she felt something unusually hard in her stomach.

Her scream filled the air, sending a rush of nurses into her room. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, panicking. "What is in me? Where am I?"

"Miss, you need to calm down," an older nurse next to her said firmly.

"Please!" Rachel begged her, grabbing her arm. "Please tell me what the hell is going on!"

"Breathe," the middle-aged nurse on the other side said to her, guiding her to lay back down. They braced Rachel as she wriggled. "Just breathe, Miss. Relax." When Rachel calmed, the nurse continued. "You were brought in by a motorist. You were found along 100, unconscious."

"What is your name?" the older nurse asked, fixing the oxygen back onto Rachel's face.

Rachel swallowed, the cool oxygen both a welcomed addition and an annoyance. "Rachel … Rachel Lentz." She watched as another younger nurse wrote down her name on a notepad, waiting for anything else noteworthy.

"Rachel, what is the last thing you remember?"

"I …" Rachel rubbed her temples. "I was with Vance," she said softly, recalling their case they just finished. A poltergeist. It gave them a hell of a chase. "Vance Matthews."

The middle-aged nurse nodded to the tall blonde one in the back, who then scribbled away. "Is Vance your boyfriend?" she asked.

"Um … Not really. Just a friend of mine. We were in Chicago."

"Chicago?" the older nurse asked. Rachel nodded. "Sweetheart, you're in New York."

Rachel felt her pulse rise. She blinked, focusing on the sheets under her fingertips. "New York?"

"White Plains Hospital."

"White Plains." Rachel's lips parted. "I … I used to live here. Scarsdale."

"Good," the older nurse soothed. "You're beginning to remember. What you thought was Chicago probably—"

"No," Rachel argued, "I _was_ in Chicago. I know it."

The nurses glanced at each other. "What else can you tell us?" the middle-aged one asked.

"It's February," Rachel said slowly. "And … Vance and I were …"

"You were what, sweetheart?" the older nurse encouraged.

"We were … celebrating." Rachel looked up into the nurse's eyes. "What … What day is it?"

The nurse cleared her throat. "It's May eleventh."

"May?" Rachel's eyes rounded. "No, no, it can't be. It's February."

"Rachel, it's May. Was February what you last remember?"

Rachel nodded, swallowing. Her heart slammed against her chest. "Please call Vance," she whispered. "I … don't remember his number, but I need to talk to him."

"We will track him down." The nurse on Rachel's right ushered the younger one off, the tall blonde slipping out of the room quietly.

"Who brought me in?" Rachel asked.

"They never gave us a name."

Rachel's hand immediately went to her stomach, perplexed by the hardness and slight bulge. "Why is my stomach so hard? And why is it so bloated?"

The nurses exchanged looks. "Rachel, you're with child. You're pregnant. We're estimating about sixteen to twenty weeks."

The beeping on the monitors attached to Rachel sped up with fervor, capturing her runaway pulse as she took in the news. "Breathe, Rachel," the middle-age nurse coached. "Her BP is climbing," she murmured to the other nurse.

"No," Rachel stammered, "I … I can't be …"

"Breathe, Rachel," the older nurse coached, looking at her monitors. "Is Vance the father?"

"What?" Rachel scoffed. "No!" She shuddered. "I … I don't know who is."

The older nurse gave a small nod to the middle-aged one, who slipped out of the room. "We're going to run a few tests, Rachel. To see if we can pinpoint any signs of ... assault. What we need you to do is rest. You need to get your blood pressure under control for your child."

Tears flooded over Rachel's cheeks, burning her eyes. "What the hell is going on?" she begged, clinging to the nurse's hand.

"Everything will be alright, dear. I'll put you on the list for one of our volunteer counselors. They will stop by if you'd like to chat. The next rotation will be in a few hours."

With that, Rachel was left, alone. Her hand traced over her stomach, gasping when she felt a kick against her palm. "Oh my God," she whispered, hot tears streaming down her face. She was pregnant. She was alone. And she didn't remember anything at all of how she got to the place she was in.


	33. Chapter 33

The ride to New York took two days, and by the time they crossed into the state, Sam was more than ready to abandon Ketch. "Dean, I'm going to murder him," Sam said on his cell phone, parked outside of a coffee shop as he waited for Ketch.

"What is he doing?" Dean asked back at the bunker, seated at the kitchen table.

"Breathing."

"Sam …"

Sam sighed. "I know. He's here to cover my ass." He rubbed his brows. "There were three Jane Does fitting Rachel's description admitted to area hospitals recently. I'm hoping one is her."

"Me too," Dean sighed. "I miss that girl."

"You're telling me."

"She makes one hell of a pie."

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah. She's amazing." He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. "Dean, if she doesn't remember …"

"She will," Dean insisted. "She's smart as hell. Lucifer's got nothing on your girl."

With a nod, Sam glanced out the window, sighing heavily as he saw Ketch approach the car with two coffees in hand. "Gotta go. I'll keep you posted." He hung up the phone, tucking it in his pocket as Ketch opened the door and took a seat next to him. Ketch handed Sam his coffee. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Ketch replied, sipping on his tea. "Alright, so are we using the Federal agent approach?"

"You can. I'm going in as a volunteer hospital counselor."

"I suppose you'd like me to ruffle her feathers, then send you in to calm her?"

"If the shoe fits."

Ketch shook his head. "Don't suppose you'll ever—"

"No. Never," Sam interrupted, starting the car. "It's not exactly forgivable." He pulled back out onto the road, heading to their first potential hospital.

"I beat your brother on a few occasions, but I don't see your knickers in a twist over it."

Sam pressed his lips together. "Who said I ever forgave you for that?" he asked with a cool glance.

"Touché," Ketch said with a nod. He drew in a deep breath, switching gears. "So. Once you bring Rachel back, is your plan to raise your son into this life?"

Focusing on the road, Sam felt his stomach churn. He both had and hadn't thought that far in advance. Knowing he was going to be a father made him feel like he had the most purpose he ever experienced. Building a life with Rachel tasted so sweet, so incredibly perfect in his mind. Still, what they did was the furthest thing from what he wanted his budding family to be exposed to. The danger they were in was more than evident, both perfect bait for Sam's enemies. It was his relationship with Dean, now only cubed. Instead of worrying about a grown man who could handle himself, he now worried for a scrappy, but weaker than Dean woman, and an innocent newborn baby. "I'll keep them safe," Sam murmured.

"A bang-up job on it so far."

"You want to say something?" Sam challenged with a snarl. "Then say it."

"Right, then. You're making a huge mistake going after Rachel, in my opinion."

"What?!"

Ketch gave a small shrug. "You can't possibly think that this situation your pet is in is anything less than a blessing."

"Excuse me?"

"Just take your heart out of it, Sam, and you'll understand what I'm telling you." Ketch studied Sam's profile. "Rachel has currently never been safer since falling pregnant than she is in this moment."

Sam's laugh was cold. "Why are you even here?"

"You need to be honest with yourself," Ketch continued, unfazed. "You're hoping to drag the poor girl back into the spider web she just untangled herself from, and for what? To have her by your side while you're drained dry? Nevermind the targets on yours and your brother's backs, so long as you're satisfied."

"Fuck you. She's my _girlfriend_ ," Sam growled. "He's my _son._ Are you suggesting that abandoning them is somehow better than keeping them close?"

"Surely you once considered sending her away for her own protection," Ketch replied knowingly.

Sam gritted his molars together. "This is what I'm doing. As far as I'm concerned, I don't give a damn what you decide to do from here. But you'd best either get on board, or get the hell out of my way."

* * *

Rachel had taken the next couple hours to try to jog her memory, coming up with nothing more than what she had told the nurses about Vance. The number they found for him was disconnected, which only added to her worries. Four months of her life were unaccounted for-what had happened? Was she raped? Whose child was she carrying?

Restricted to bed rest until her blood pressure evened, Rachel flicked through the channels on the hospital television, contemplating whether or not to call her father, or maybe even her older brother. _No._ She hadn't spoken to them in nearly a decade. Now wasn't the time to whip up a reunion. It would only add fuel to their fire of contempt for what she did as a hunter.

She heard a purposeful rap on her hospital room door. "Come in," Rachel managed, sniffing back her tears and dabbing her eyes with the thin tissues from the hospital. Her lips parted as a man with dark cropped hair and a stiff expression walked in, dressed in a sharp suit. Her brows wrinkled-it was an odd thing to recognize, but his ensemble lit a dim spark somewhere in the back of her mind. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Agent Hamington, from the Bureau," the man said in an unexpected British accent. He showed her his badge. "And your name is Rachel Lentz, correct?"

"Yes," Rachel murmured.

"Mind if I ask you some questions?"

"In regards to what?"

"You were recently classified as a Jane Doe." Ketch eyed her, analyzing her responses as he spoke. "We're currently investigating a serial rapist, and are curious if you've any similarities with the profile."

Rachel swallowed. "Look, I-"

"Are you with child, Miss Lentz?" Ketch asked, purposely grating her to build momentum for Sam.

"That's none of your damn business," Rachel snapped.

Ketch shrugged. "Actually, it is, as it pertains to a portion of our investigation."

"I'm not required to tell you anything, per medical information laws."

"It's quite obvious you're carrying a child, my dear. You need not try to deny it."

Rachel gritted her teeth. "You need to leave, before I call security."

"Just answer my questions, and I'll be on my way."

"No."

"Is there a reason you're being uncooperative, Miss Lentz?" Ketch stepped forward.

"Yeah, because I don't want to share private information someone who dresses and acts like a douchebag."

"Miss Lentz, just answer the question."

"Screw you. I won't answer shit until I speak with your supervisor."

Another knock came on the door. Sam gently cracked the door open, stepping inside the room as he coached himself to remain calm. His eyes locked on Rachel, his heart twisting as he saw the vacant look she regarded him with. "Hi, uh, sorry to interrupt," Sam said. He tugged at the badge clipped to his chest. "Miss Lentz, correct?" It felt more than odd to act around her, but he didn't want to screw things up if Ketch was ultimately right. "Hi, I'm Sam. I'm one of the volunteer counselors?"

"Perfect," Rachel grumbled. "Come on in. You've got to be better than him." She eyed Ketch. "Agent Hamington, feel free to leave and/or kiss my ass."

Ketch scoffed, shaking his head as he passed Sam. "It's there," he whispered discreetly on his way out, Sam's pulse quickening with the sliver of hope.

Sam wet his lips as Ketch shut the door with purpose. "He seems like …"

"Like he's watched one too many cop shows."

"I actually was going to say like a dick," Sam replied, seeing her smirk. He smiled along with her, feeling the tension in the air dissipate a bit. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair next to her.

Rachel nodded. "Oh, sure." She watched as Sam unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat, nervousness flitting through her stomach. He was a handsome man, perhaps more attractive than she realized was possible. He seemed warm, tender—still, judging from his broad frame, he also seemed strong, capable. "So … you get stuck with Clementine," she murmured, twisting the sheet over her between her fingers.

"Good movie, but definitely not 'stuck,'" he assured, trying to ease himself through a silent, repetitive chant to stay in character. "How are you feeling, Miss Lentz?"

"Rachel," Rachel corrected.

"Rachel," Sam repeated, looking her over; Rachel suppressed a shiver.

"Well … I just woke up in a hospital in a completely different state than I was last in. I'm apparently pretty pregnant, and there are four months or so of my life I don't remember." Rachel shrugged. "So, I'm freaked out."

Sam nodded. "It's understandable." He wet his lips. "Do you remember anything unusual happening prior to you being here?"

Rachel laughed. She paused, seeing Sam's confusion. "My whole life has been weird," she explained. "But to answer your question, no. Nothing out of the usual realm of weird."

"Have you been in contact with anyone since you woke?"

She sniffed, looking away. "There's no one to contact."

Sam caught the glassiness of her eyes as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, feeling his own tears brimming. He leaned a little closer, barely holding back his hand from sliding over hers as she fidgeted with the blankets. He wrestled with showing her his phone, the photos on it, hating the game he was playing. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, to assure her she wasn't alone.

"I mean, they did try to call Vance," Rachel said, breaking the silence.

"Who?" Sam asked, trying to hold back the disgust the mere mention of Vance brought.

She looked back to Sam. "Vance Matthews. He, uh, was the last person I had contact with."

Sam sniffed, hating the way she looked at him like a stranger, coupled with discussing Vance Matthews. "Ah."

Rachel's lips pressed together as she looked down at the sheets. "His number was disconnected."

A long stretch of silence spread between them. Rachel took glimpses of Sam, a lump catching in her throat as she felt her mind scream at her. His eyes—they lit a spark somewhere in her memories, the beautiful array of colors in the hazel speaking to her. Her heart was convinced she knew this handsome stranger's eyes somehow, but her brain wasn't buying it. "I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood to chat. I guess it's all just … a little too soon," she managed.

"I can come back," Sam offered gently, hoping to ease Rachel's burdened spirit.

She nodded. "Sure. Um, yeah. Sorry."

Sam stood with hesitation, giving her a warm smile. "Stop apologizing," he murmured, his eyes roaming over her.

Rachel's brows wrinkled. The way Sam said that felt so familiar. Coupled with his hazel eyes skimming over her, it seemed so real, as if ... _How could you know him? You couldn't. You don't. Stop._ Still, she watched the way his tongue darted over his lips, an unexpected warmth filling her.

Sam took out a hospital business card he stole from the nurse's station, scribbling his cell number down on the back. "This is my cell. If you want to talk, you call me. No matter when or for what."

Rachel took the card, her fingers skimming over his. The touch sent heat blooming through her. "Is that … normal volunteer protocol?" she asked.

"For me it is," he replied with the smallest of smiles, holding her gaze. It pained him to walk away, to leave her there. Still, he had to keep up the charade. "Get some rest, Rachel. And call or text if you want to chat." He slowly slipped away from her bedside, smiling softly before he left the room. "You're not alone. I promise."

Rachel watched him leave, feeling his hesitance as well as her own. She nearly called him back in, but chickened out, watching him disappear through the door.

Outside of her room, Sam sighed heavily, rubbing his brows as he focused on the floor. "Well?" he heard Ketch ask next to him.

"I can't do this," Sam muttered. "I can't keep pretending like she's not my girlfriend, or that she's not carrying my child." Sam eyed Ketch. "I know you said go slow, but she's sitting in there, freaked out and she thinks she's completely alone. I can't watch her suffer."

"Sam," Ketch interrupted, "put yourself in her place six months before you met her. Did she know then what she knew before Lucifer got ahold of her?" He watched Sam struggle through silence. "Look, I know it's not ideal, but right now, your girlfriend likely doesn't know much about angels, or about Lucifer. Am I right?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam brushed by Ketch. He knew he was right, but leaving her in that room felt like the worst possible torture he could put her through. She woke up to no memories, and he wasn't there to help her feel safe, like he vowed he would.

His stomach knotted the closer he got to the exit. Sam paused in the hallway. "No," he said softly. "She doesn't. But I don't give a shit." He turned on his heel, passing Ketch as he walked purposefully toward Rachel's room.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ketch asked, perplexed.

"Telling her the truth."

Before Ketch could argue all of the reasons it was a bad idea, Sam was gone, gently opening Rachel's door.

Rachel looked up, surprised when she saw Sam. She watched him as he silently closed the door behind himself, his eyes locked on her as he carefully approached the bed. "Rachel, I …" Sam sighed, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of the armchair. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do … what?" Rachel asked, entirely confused.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam moved closer and examined her. "I can't keep pretending. Rachel, you …" He chewed on his bottom lip. "You know me."

The monitors keeping track of Rachel's pulse beeped faster. "What?"

He held his hands up. "I know it's overwhelming, but you need to know that I'm here, like I said I would be, like I always will be." Sam rested his hand over hers, feeling her tense immediately.

"What do you think you're—"

"You're not alone," he whispered, searching her eyes. "You're not. I told you I'd protect you, and I still am."

Rachel's hand trembled under Sam's, but she didn't remove it, a comfort flowing over her she couldn't explain. "I … I don't …"

"My name is Sam Winchester. I'm a hunter. Like you. We met in Nebraska about five months ago."

"Nebraska?" She shook her head. "I was in Chicago."

Sam kept his hand over hers as he sat on the edge of the armchair, scooting it closer. "There will be memories that aren't good," he warned gently, "but I need you to remember Nebraska. If you can, I think everything else will fall into place."

Rachel took her hand out from under his. "I _don't_ know you," she argued. "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong girl."

With a soft laugh, he shook his head. "I definitely don't." He pulled out his phone, quickly opening a picture and handing the phone to her. "Go on. Look through them. See when they're dated."

With hesitation, Rachel took the phone. As Sam rolled up his shirt sleeves, he watched her scroll through the pictures. She wet her lips, eyes widening as some of the pictures became more intimate, until she stopped on the one where he was kissing her forehead. Rachel's lips parted, her finger tracing over the image delicately as her heart monitor steadily climbed.

A nurse came into the room, looking a bit worried as she moved toward the machine, reading the numbers. "Are you alright?" the nurse asked, eyeing Sam for a moment.

"I'm …" Rachel gripped the phone tightly, her mind an empty cavern as she tried to remember the moments the pictures were taken. "I don't know."

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to leave," the nurse said firmly. "Miss Lentz needs to—"

"N-No," Rachel stammered, looking to the woman next to her. "He … I need him to stay."

"If he's negatively affecting you, he's unable to stay. He can return later on his rotation, when you've had a chance to rest."

" _No_!" Eyes narrowed, Rachel squared her jaw. "He stays."

"Miss Lentz—"

"I … I want to talk to him," she quickly argued, the nurse falling silent. "I think he can … I think he can help me remember."

The nurse looked at Sam with warning. "Be that as it may, if her pressures keep rising, it could cause serious complications for her pregnancy. You need to be mindful of that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, his stomach knotting as he watched the nurse leave. He hadn't expected Rachel to be as trusting as she was, but he remained silent, afraid to spook her.

Silence spread between them, thick and uncomfortable. Sam watched as Rachel focused on the phone in her hand, seeming to stare right through it. Several long minutes passed, Sam studying her dark waves, itching to comb his fingers through them, to tuck them behind her ear as he always did. "I don't …" Rachel paused. His brow wrinkled when he saw a tear roll down her cheek. "I don't remember any of this," she whispered, a tremble coursing through her.

"Shh," Sam soothed, taking the phone from her and shoving it in his pocket. He wiped her tear with his thumb. "Don't cry, sweetheart," he whispered, trapping her hands in his. He quickly swiped away a second tear, pained for her. "Baby girl, it's okay. I promise."

Rachel was clearly frustrated. "No, it's not! They said there were no signs of head trauma, no drugs in my system. I'm perfectly normal, so I shouldn't have lost all these memories."

"They'll come back," Sam assured. "Just give them time."

"But _why_ can't I remember?" Rachel asked, looking into Sam's eyes. "No one can tell me what caused this. So what happened to me? That's what I want to know."

Sam hesitated to answer. He swallowed hard, caressing her hands as he wrestled with his reply. Touching her felt so incredibly good after everything that happened in Apocalypse World. He prayed the truth would be the right choice. "You can't remember because …" He paused, she focusing on him in anticipation. "... because Lucifer took your memories while I was in the Apocalypse World. He used my being in another dimension to corner you and make you vulnerable to punish me for damaging the deal I made with him about our son."

He knew as soon as he finished that it was one straw too many from the look in her eyes. Rachel snatched her hands back, panic setting in. "Oh my God. You're insane."

"No, I—"

"You're psychotic." She scoffed. "I mean, Lucifer? Really?"

Sam grimaced. "I know how it sounds—"

"Do you? Because I'm pretty sure you don't."

"Baby girl—"

Rachel held a hand up, trying to suppress her fear as she gave him hardened look. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you won't be calling me that." She showed him the controller in her hand, her jaw tightening. "And you have five seconds to leave before I hit this security button and they taser your ass."

"Rachel, there are demons out there who want—"

"Four … three … I suggest you leave willingly, or else be detained."

"Please, I—"

"Two. One." Rachel pressed on the button, watching as Sam stood and stepped a bit closer.

"Just hear me out!"

"Stay away from me," she growled, relieved when the security guards came in.

"Sir, step back now," one barked at Sam.

Sam held up his hands, shaking his head. "Please, Rachel," he begged, "you know me. I swear you do. I need you to trust me. You're in danger if you stay here alone."

"No," she whispered, examining him sadly. "You're delusional. You need help, Sam. If that's even your name."

"Just listen for five minutes and—"

The guard pulled out his taser. "Sir, step away from the bed. Final warning."

With flared nostrils and more than enough frustration and regret, Sam snatched his suit jacket and headed for the door, taking one last look at Rachel before he left, the guards following him out.

When the door shut, Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, silently sobbing as she clawed at the blankets over her. She was such an idiot. Of course this Sam character was psychotic. How did she ever let herself be manipulated so easily by him? The pictures were a great trick. Clever. She didn't know how or why he'd go to such lengths to convince her, but it didn't work. Not with his kooky explanation regarding the Devil himself and an alternate world. Though he sounded so sincere when he told her she wasn't alone, she knew better.

She was. And she always would be.


	34. Chapter 34

"Son of a bitch!" Sam growled as he stalked by Ketch for the hospital exit.

"That well, eh?" Ketch asked, brow raised as he saw how the security guards eyed Sam. He sighed, following him.

"Stick the 'I told you so' up your—"

"Easy, Sam. I won't rub salt in the wound just yet." Ketch caught the door Sam failed to keep open just before it hit him in the face. "So, now what?"

Sam gritted his teeth, squeezing his car keys in his fist. "She won't talk to me. She made me leave."

"So she's mad at you. She'll calm down eventually, and come with us once she forgives your shortcomings."

Sam eyed Ketch. "She's not _mad,_ Ketch. She … she didn't believe me or remember me. She thinks I'm insane."

"Good God. What did you tell her?"

"... That Lucifer took her memories while I was in an alternate world."

Ketch froze as Sam climbed into the driver's seat, door open to the passenger side. "You can't be serious!"

Sam growled in frustration, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "I can't go back in there, so what else can I do besides break her out?"

Rubbing his brow, Ketch sat down next to Sam, shutting his door. " _This_ is the opportune time for me to gloat." He sighed. "Since you've burned your sole existing bridge, as I feared you might, now you've only got two choices, as I see it."

Sam gripped the wheel, his knuckles white. "Which are …?"

"The first is to wait it out, perhaps finding a somewhat reasonable moment outside of the hospital to converse with her. Though, it would require you essentially stalking her, and I fear it won't be as easy or clean as you'd like it to be."

"... And the second?"

Ketch examined Sam's profile. "Head southwest and cut your losses."

Sam looked to Ketch, eyes wide, blood boiling. "'Cut my losses?'"

"Look," Ketch said quickly, holding up a hand, "I'm only the messenger here. Aside from those two choices, what else can be done? And even _you_ have to admit that the least traumatizing way for this to resolve itself for Rachel is to walk away."

Sam stared down Ketch, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now."

"Because you know I'm right," Ketch replied softly. He watched Sam's subtle reaction, the acknowledgment buried under a thick blanket of anger. "Sam, Rachel has a chance to keep your son safe. All I'm saying here is to recognize that it might not be such a bad thing."

Sam shook his head. "Why are you so damn adamant about me abandoning her?"

"I'm just trying to—"

"If you say 'keep them safe,' I will put a clip in you."

Ketch sighed heavily. "Sam—"

"No." Sam let go of the wheel, quickly drawing his gun and aiming it at Ketch. "The last goddamn thing you care about is my girlfriend or my son. So you're going to tell me what the hell is going on, or I'll kill you."

"Easy, Sam," Ketch said softly, feeling sorry for him. "There's no ulterior motive. You're a bit on edge, is all. I'm merely presenting an alternative point of view."

"Yeah, and why's that?"

"So you can at least realize there _might_ be a better option for your son's future than raising him in the bunker, imprisoning him to 'the life' alongside your girlfriend. You know, like how you were raised. Bad enough the boy will be born with naturally occurring demon blood and powers. It'll make him quite the target once other hunters learn of him."

Sam slowly lowered his gun, adrenaline and tension still coursing through him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Ketch made a valid point, just as he had given him sound advice earlier. And when he failed to take it, he ruined the best possible connection to Rachel. Would he doom her to a miserable life if he selfishly dragged her back to Kansas? Was the best thing to let her memories of him remain dead? He would never meet his son, nor would he ever be with Rachel again. Still, they would be safe. Free. Robbie could live a normal, apple pie life. Rachel could have a life where she didn't know the horrors that happened to her because of him.

In silence, Sam started the car, pulling out onto the road, heading for their motel. He needed Dean's council, whiskey, and a hot shower.

* * *

Freshly showered and changed into regular clothes, Sam held his phone to his ear, pacing slowly outside the motel room as he waited through three rings. "Hey," he said when Dean answered.

"Hey, Sammy. How's it going out there?" Dean asked, popping the top off of his beer and sitting at the kitchen table in the bunker.

"We found her."

"That's awesome! How is she?"

"Physically, okay. Except for her memory." Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I think she might've remembered me eventually."

"Wait, 'might've?'"

Head dropping, Sam stopped pacing. "Yeah. I, uh, went a little too fast."

Dean rubbed his brows. "Shit. You info dumped on her, didn't you?"

"Dean, I can't sit around and pretend like I don't know her!"

"That's precisely what you _needed_ to do," Dean argued. "Dammit, Sammy! You can't waltz in and tell someone suffering from memory loss that they can't remember because the Devil himself took their memories. Do you hear how that sounds?"

"I know." Sam groaned. "Now I do. It seemed like the right thing at the time."

"So, she thinks you're cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs."

"Pretty much. But I also see it, Dean. I see the spark."

"Okay, but now you've spooked her. And depending on how bad, maybe for quite a while."

Sam gritted his molars, unable to get Ketch's advice out of his head. "Do you …" He swallowed. "Do you think I should even try? Do you think I should just let her go?"

Dean was about to take a swig of his beer when he froze, setting the bottle down. "Come again?"

"It's just … Dean, Rachel has a chance to be safe. Robbie has a chance to be a normal kid."

"Yeah, and Rachel would be a single mother, and Robbie wouldn't have his dad. How is that better for them?"

"Because they're not targets," Sam explained, pacing again. "Because Robbie will never have to even know he has demon blood or powers or—"

"Oh yeah?" Dean scoffed. "And how'd that work out for you, Sammy? You really mastered the whole, 'I'm going to pretend I'm not different than the rest of the kids' thing, huh?"

"Dean—"

"No. No, Sammy. I don't think you should let her go. In fact, if you don't come back here with her, I'll personally kick your ass." Dean paused. "We clear?"

"Yeah." Sam stopped, nodding with reluctance.

"Good." Dean took a long drink before continuing. "Alright, so Plan B. You get her here with or without her consent. We'll call it 'enforced relocation.'"

Sam scoffed. "And then what? We stick her in the dungeon until she remembers?"

Dean shrugged, taking another drink. "Yeah, that works."

Sam rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing heavily. "Dean, this is insane. I can't just kidnap her, and I can't keep my pregnant girlfriend in a dungeon for God knows how long."

"You got any better ideas? And don't say telling her the truth."

"... No."

"Then set it up once you know she's stable and ready to be discharged."

"This feels incredibly wrong."

"Because kidnapping usually is."

Sam swiped at his face. "Look, I—"

"No," Dean interrupted, standing. "This is what needs to be done. The longer we wait, the less of a chance we have of restoring her. So, you bring her here, kicking and screaming. I'll make sure it's all set up."

"And by 'it,' you mean the dungeon? Where the mother of my child will be kept?"

"Bingo. Don't let anyone tell you you're just a pretty face, Sammy."

With a grumble, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Fine." He sighed. "I'll call you when we're on our way."

Sam hung up the phone, swallowing as he glanced back at the motel room door. He tucked it away, heading back into the room and closing the door behind him. "So?" Ketch asked, turning to Sam as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "What wise council did Dean provide?"

Gritting his teeth, Sam sat on his bed. "Looks like we're taking her back to the bunker. By force."

With an arched brow, Ketch paused. "Lovely. That won't be at all noticeable or hard to pull off."

As Ketch resumed, Sam flopped back onto his bed. "Right. Should be a piece of cake. It's not like she thinks I'm a psycho or anything."

* * *

 _She was running; it was dark, the woods thick with dense brush that assaulted her as she tore through it. Her skin was scraped, bruised, bleeding, but she kept moving, her breath coming in small bursts. She felt it nearing her, closing the gap she had made. She could smell its putrid breath as it panted behind her._

 _She caught a slice of bright light through the dense woods, pumping her arms and legs faster as she headed toward it. She burst through into the clearing, seeing the Impala with its headlights on. She darted for it, hearing the growl of the creature beats away from her back. Sweat ran down her brow, her stomach lurching as she cut a purposeful path behind it, just missing the pile of brush next to it._

 _Before the creature could attack, it dropped into the hidden pit through the brush that covered it, screaming in anger. She panted, Sam's strong arms holding her steady as Dean quickly lit a match and tossed it into the gasoline soaked brush pit. The wendigo squealed as it burned, smoke rising from the pit as the fire grew hotter._

 _She clung to Sam's arms, pressing her forehead against his chest as she tried to catch her breath. "Too fucking close," she heard Sam growl above her; Dean's boots crunched against the gravel underfoot as he approached. "She's not doing that again."_

" _She kicked ass," Dean argued._

" _The wendigo nearly got her!"_

" _I'm fine," she assured softly, lifting her head up to look into Sam's eyes._

" _No more," Sam said, his jaw ticking. "You're not playing bait anymore."_

" _Sam—"_

" _No!" Sam's hands tightened around her. "I'm not going to lose you to catch monsters."_

" _Give us a minute, Dean," she said gently, holding Sam's gaze. She waited until Dean paced away, then continued. "This is what I do, Sam. If it's not with you two, it'll be with someone else. So, if you want me safe, have my back."_

" _I do. I just don't want you on the line like this."_

" _We're always on the line," she replied softly. "Question is, are you gonna be with me?"_

 _Sam wet his lips, examining her eyes through a long moment of silence. "Of course I am, baby girl," he assured back in a husky tone that made her stomach knot. "It'd take a hell of a lot more than your stubbornness to keep me from you."_

 _She smirked. "Oh yeah?"_

 _He smiled back, drawing her to himself. "Oh yeah," he whispered, his lips finding hers for a slow, sensual kiss that nearly took her breath away. "You're mine, remember?" he asked with a growl when they parted._

" _Yes, sir," she whispered, grinning when she saw the undeniable hunger it stirred in him, unable to resist the heat that bloomed inside of herself._

Rachel woke, eyes wide as she examined the illuminated hospital room she was in. "Holy shit," she whispered to herself, thinking of her dream. _I'm dreaming about making out with him now._

With a swallow, Rachel tried to settle in against the uncomfortable hospital bed, unsuccessful as she replayed the kiss from her dream in her head. Sam was gigantic, or at least it seemed as he held her, his mouth expertly tasting hers as his hands splayed over her, long fingers possessively sinking into her curves. He smelled like sweat, worn flannel peppered with the tiniest bit of cologne, and pure heat. Everytime his thick locks of hair moved, she caught a hint of his herbal shampoo. And his tongue ...

"Dammit," she grumbled, punching at the blankets. "This is all your fault, so thanks a lot," she grumbled to her swollen stomach. Despite the man being literally insane, her elevated hormones drove her to apparent madness, bestowing on her the now third detailed dream of "Sam" … except this time, clearly as her lover.

Rachel rubbed her brow, her head pounding relentlessly. She glanced at the clock on the wall, barely able to make out the time. With a sigh, she shut her eyes and tried to ignore the incessant pain in her skull. She had just received the highest dose of painkillers they'd allow her to take after her second dream. And it did jack squat to quell it. She wouldn't be allowed another dose for several hours. _Maybe it just needs another couple hours to kick in._ Rachel sighed. She didn't even believe herself.

Unable to handle TV with her headache, she laid in silence, her thoughts consuming her as she tried to recall something—anything—that would be helpful to jog her memory. Her eyes fell on the business card she tossed on her hospital bedside table, the ten-digit number the psycho scribbled on it taunting her. With a groan, Rachel turned away from it and shut her eyes, trying to settle in for the night once more.

A few moments later, her room door opened; Rachel saw a male nurse with a shaved head walk in with a soft smile. "I'm Tom. So sorry to wake you," he said, "but we need to check your vitals."

"Of course," Rachel murmured, watching as Tom pushed a cart toward her bedside. She swallowed, a shiver running through her that seemed out of place.

"Cold?" he asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her upper right arm. Tom's touch was nearly frigid, his skin like ice.

"I guess," Rachel laughed.

"It's normal. Hospitals tend to be cooler."

"Ah."

Rachel watched as Tom disconnected the cuff, noting her results on her chart. "Your pressures seem to be coming down a bit," he said. "Since that man left earlier."

"Yeah," Rachel murmured, unable to stop from feeling Sam's hands digging into her hips with desire from her dream.

"They screen them well here, but I guess one can never tell what's really in a person."

"I guess not."

Tom stuck a thermometer into Rachel's mouth, and she complied, closing her lips around it. "I mean, it's quite sad, really," he continued, looking down at her. The thermometer beeped, and he took it out, notating the temperature. He lifted her arm that had the IV line, examining the port. "It's like the poor guy was somehow confused about his place in all this."

Rachel found Tom's wording weird, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, I guess."

Tom connected a tube to her IV, allowing him to collect a sample of blood. Rachel watched as it poured in with ease. "He really should know better." He switched out the tubes, beginning to fill another vial. "What does he honestly think, that he can best us?"

Rachel's brow wrinkled a little, her pulse quickening. She remained silent despite her growing curiosity of the nurse next to her, who connected a third tube for more blood. "Why so much blood?" she asked softly.

"Oh, well, two are for your vitals."

"And the third?"

Tom smiled at her, disconnecting the third tube. "Well, that's just a little snack for me." Rachel's stomach dropped as she saw Tom down the blood like a shot, giving a satisfied sigh after. "Mmm. That's good stuff there. Gotta love a little bit of Demon Baby Mama blood."

With a gasp and wide eyes, Rachel tried to scramble toward the side of the bed to get up, but was held in place by invisible pressure. "Shhh," Tom assured, wiping his mouth as his eyes flashed black for a few beats. "It's alright, honey. We'll take good care of you. We want that boy in you real bad."


	35. Chapter 35

As Rachel was about to scream, the demon flew backward, pinned to the wall by something unseen, something she had no idea where it came from. Rachel felt her bonds released, watching as the demon wriggled angrily across from her. "You whore," it growled. "I don't care who he is-your little bastard will pay for crossing his own."

Before she could even respond, she saw the demon begin to cough, choking as thick black smoke leaked from its mouth. The black smoke lit into white hot flames, burning then disappearing from sight. The nurse's body dropped to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"What the fuck?" Rachel shuddered. She pawed at her IV, disconnecting it as she rushed to stand. The tiles were cold under her bare feet, a draft flowing easily through her hospital gown. Her heart slammed against her chest, jaw slack as she looked down at the lifeless body. She hadn't ever encountered a demon before, which she assumed it was. What did it want with her, or her child? And what the hell was it talking about?

She glanced around, realizing she had nothing to change into. The nurse told her they had cut her clothes off of her, leaving only her shoes across the way next to the body on the floor. It wasn't worth the risk, she decided. Regardless of her state of dress, she needed to take action, and fast.

 _Sam._

Whether she wanted it to or not, his name entered her mind, remembering his warning of her being in danger. Did Sam send the demon? _No._ It didn't fit. But somehow, he knew the trouble was coming for her. He had been right about that much. What else was he right about?

Snatching the business card, she grabbed the corded hospital phone and punched in the numbers with shaking hands, gripping it tight as she pressed it to her ear.

Sam jumped awake from his light sleep on the motel bed when his cell phone rang. He saw the clock first on the nightstand next to him. _Three A.M._ He reached for the phone and looked at the number, not recognizing it. After the third ring, he considered declining it, but gave in by the fourth. "Hello?" he asked softly, trying not to wake Ketch.

"S-Sam?" Rachel asked in a hushed tone.

"Rachel," he breathed, bolting up from the bed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. No. … I don't know." Rachel looked at the body, a sick feeling in her stomach. "I know … this sounds crazy, but you're the only hunter … person … I can contact and … I think a demon came into my room."

Sam flew out of the bed, grateful he chose to sleep in his clothes. He jammed his feet into his boots. "Are you okay? Did it hurt you?" he asked quickly, not bothering to see if he had woken Ketch as he snatched up a demon blade, his gun, and his car keys and left the motel for the parking lot.

"No, I'm fine," Rachel replied. "It's … I think it's dead."

"You exorcised it?" he asked, climbing into his car.

"No. I … Look, I don't know how it died, but I just … I feel … like there are more here. I can't explain it."

"Lock yourself in the bathroom," Sam ordered, slamming the car door and jamming his keys into the ignition. "I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes. Just stay on the phone with me."

Rachel went toward the bathroom with the phone, the cord stopping her short. "I can't. The phone won't reach."

"Shit," Sam growled, tires spinning as he tore out of the parking lot. "Alright, get in the bathroom. Don't let anyone in. Not even me until you hear me say, 'Impala.' Got it?"

"Yeah," Rachel whispered, her heart racing as she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. "Please hurry, Sam. I … I think I can feel them close by."

"Go, now!"

Sam chucked his phone onto the passenger seat as he heard her hang up. He drove erratically toward the hospital, nostrils flared as he prayed for her safety.

Tires squealing, he parked the car outside of the hospital, flying out of it with a crazed look. He was able to bypass the distracted security guards easier than he thought, rounding the corner to the elevator and taking it to the fourth floor.

As Sam stepped off the elevator, he kept his eyes peeled, his breath quickening. A sensation he hadn't expected pulsed through him the closer he got to Rachel's room. He paused briefly, sniffing the cool air. _Demon blood._ He swore he was clean after Apocalypse World, but as soon as he entered the hospital floor, he felt the thirst flow through him. A painful ache began to grow within. _Dammit._ He couldn't afford to deal with this. _Not now._

Ignoring the desire best as he could, he passed by the nurse's desk as inconspicuous as possible, keeping his focus on the second to last door in the hall. The two nurses behind the desk stood as he passed; Sam froze, smelling their distinct blood clearly. He drew his demon blade and spun around to face them. Immediately the taller nurse attacked, her eyes flashing black as she lunged at Sam, who managed to slash her arm with the knife. The demon squealed, and Sam put space between them, shifting his focus to the shorter demon, who gave a sloppy attempt at attacking. Sam stuck the knife into her, withdrawing it quickly and shoving the body away. His stomach churned from the fresh demon blood covering his blade, as well as from the guilt of killing the innocent vessel.

The taller demon grabbed Sam and landed a hard punch into his jaw. Recovering, Sam attacked, thrusting the demon into a wall and stabbing it with his blade. As it died, Sam pushed it aside, glancing around. It seemed clear for the moment. He moved quickly to Rachel's door, drawing in a deep breath.

Sam opened Rachel's room door with caution, the only light inside coming from a small bulb above the bed that was still turned on. He shut the door, seeing the discarded vessel as he stepped further inside. Quietly, Sam readied the demon blade, scanning the room for any sign of an ambush. Still, it was clean.

He flicked his eyes to the shut bathroom door, his senses nearly on fire from the powerful draw the demon blood on his blade stirred within. He froze momentarily, grimacing in disgust. He could smell his own son. The scent was unbelievably alluring; in the thick of his deal with Lucifer, he was afraid to be around Rachel for how good the child smelled. Everything about the sensation made him sick. Gritting his teeth, Sam moved to the door and pressed his hip on it as he leaned in, keeping an eye on the room as he spoke. "Impala," he said in a soft, but clear tone.

The door opened a crack, and Sam stepped back a tiny bit as Rachel regarded him with terror in her eyes. "Sam," she whispered.

"You okay?" he asked, looking her over.

She nodded slowly. "Sam, what's going on? Why did it try to kill me?"

Sam stowed the knife in his jeans, quickly opening the door wider and stepping toward her. He stripped his jacket off and helped her into it. "You're not safe here, Rachel," he replied, tightening it over her front, the excess fabric dwarfing her. "They'll keep hunting you." He paused, still gripping the coat around her. "You need to come with me. I can keep you safe." Rachel's eyes widened, her lips parting. "Look, I know it's—"

"No, behind you!" she interrupted, instinctively backing away deeper into the bathroom.

Sam drew his knife and whirled around, surprised as a demon in a blonde female nurse vessel took hold of his throat and threw him across the room. He lost grip on the demon blade, and it skittered away on the floor. His back crashed against a large picture and a dry erase board, the glass of the frame shattering around him as both fell down onto the tiles on top of him with a thud. "Aww, Sam," the demon chided as he stood with a bit of struggle. "Not so strong without your Ovaltine, huh?"

"Strong enough to handle you," Sam quipped, reaching out and focusing his power. The demon choked, black smoke leaking from its mouth. Sam gripped tighter, increasing the power until he fully extracted the demon and burned it, the vessel falling to the ground.

He looked up from it, seeing Rachel's terrified expression. Sam quickly retrieved his blade and took hold of her arm. "Come on," he urged, tugging her forward as she clearly resisted, digging her heels into the ground.

"What the hell—"

"I swear to you, I can explain it all," Sam assured, "but right now, I need to get you to safety. Then, once you're protected, I'd be happy to tell you everything." He searched her eyes. "Please. Let me help you."

Rachel nodded hesitantly, taking the hand Sam offered. It was strong, warm, calloused. Though his long fingers wrapped around her with a vice-like grip, his touch was somehow still soothing. The pair left the hospital room, Sam on high alert as he scanned the hall. It was unusually empty. "Be ready to run," he instructed, cautiously approaching the elevator he rode up, blade in hand.

Before she knew what happened, Rachel was ripped from Sam's grip, flying backward and pinned to the wall. "Sam!" she screamed, seeing three demons in scrubs surround him. She watched as he swung the blade, able to duck from one of their punches while ramming the blade into another as he rotated around. Sam yanked out the blade and sunk it into the second as it attacked, the body dropping to the floor. The third sent out a wave of power toward him, Sam abandoning the knife in the vessel to counter it with his own.

"We'll keep coming," the demon warned with a cackle, fighting Sam's strength.

"And I'll keep killing all of you," Sam replied, tightening his focus despite the pain that coursed through him.

"He's rightfully ours," the demon hissed. "He's Azazel's blood heir. Our prince."

"He'll _never_ be yours."

"We'll see."

"No. You won't." Sam used every bit of strength he could, finally able to smoke out the demon, releasing Rachel from her invisible grip. She crumpled to the floor, panting as she watched Sam in shock.

"Come on!" Sam urged, snatching the demon blade from the vessel on the ground and grabbing Rachel's hand, pulling her up to her feet. He dragged her down the hall and into the elevator, she nearly unable to keep up with his long strides between her short stature and pregnant stomach.

The security guards yelled at Sam as he tugged Rachel out into the darkened night, rushing after them. Sam stowed the demon blade and easily lifted Rachel into his arms, running in the parking lot toward his car. Rachel clung to his neck, pulse quickening as she looked over his shoulder and saw two of the guards following them, one staying behind on his walkie talkie to call in the event.

Before she even knew how, she was in the passenger seat, and Sam was next to her in the driver's, throwing the car into reverse and flying out of the lot, disappearing from the hospital faster than the guards could catch up. "You alright?" he asked once he was speeding down the road.

"Yeah," Rachel replied, trying, but failing, to quell her overwhelming fear. "Do you think we're being followed?"

"Not sure," Sam admitted, flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror. It didn't appear as if they were. "I think we're okay for now."

Rachel sucked in a few deep breaths, sinking into Sam's coat as she tried to process everything that had just happened. The man who had saved her had also used an apparent supernatural power to not only exorcise demons, but kill them. The question of how was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't seem to work up the courage to ask him. "Thank you," she chose to say instead, swallowing to wet her dry throat.

"You don't have to thank me for protecting you," Sam corrected gently.

"I kinda do, since I don't really know who you are. I mean, you risked your life for me. That at least deserves a thank you."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's subtle reaction to her response, knowing her truth likely bruised him. Still, she didn't remember him-she couldn't pretend as if she knew him without the memories, even if he gave his word. "You're welcome," he said quietly.

"So … where are we going?"

"The Starlight motel." Sam adjusted his hands over the wheel.

Rachel nodded slowly. "Are you … there alone?" She glanced over at him, watching his Adam's apple bob with a swallow.

"Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "The Fed you met earlier before me? He's, uh, a hunter. Sort of."

"Well, at least he's likely not that much of an ass in real life."

"... Actually, he is."

"Great," Rachel muttered.

"You two … don't have the greatest history."

Rachel's brow arched. "I supposedly know him too?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." She wet her lips, looking back at the road as Sam drove. It all seemed too wild to believe, but she had nothing else to go on to explain her missing time. Sam Winchester was only familiar to her in hunter rumor circles. Most of them were warnings to stay away from him and his brother. They seemed to attract trouble. Still, after he saved her life, she couldn't see what was so terrible about the brothers that everyone believed. "So … you have a brother."

"You remember?" Sam asked, a hopeful look on his face.

"I mean, Winchester is a popular name in the hunting circle. I've heard of you both."

Sam drew in a sharp breath. "Oh." He was clearly disappointed.

Though she wasn't sure she could fully trust him, Rachel knew she needed to gather as much information as possible. "So … we knew each other for five months?"

"Yeah. We met on a case."

"What case?"

Sam hesitated. "Missing persons."

"Yeah, but what was the monster?"

He couldn't open the can of worms about Hailey. Not now. "A, uh, poltergeist."

"Huh. And I abandoned a city-dwelling wendigo for that?"

"Uh-huh."

Rachel pressed her lips together. "So, what else?"

Sam tapped nervously on the steering wheel. "We lived together."

Her eyes rounded. "We did?" She saw him nod before she ducked her eyes down; Rachel pawed at the hospital gown that covered her thighs. "So, were we … uh …?"

" … Yeah."

She looked up at him, brow raised. "Really?"

Sam glanced over at her. "You sound surprised."

"It's just … you and … _me_?"

His mouth curled into a tiny smile, thinking of how infatuated he was with her ever since he first met her. She had no idea how mentally and physically beautiful she was—not then, or even now. "I know. I was surprised you went for someone like me too."

Rachel swallowed hard. She had meant it the other way around. Sam was incredibly handsome. How the hell did she bag him? He likely had an impossible twelve pack, walnut cracking thighs, and an ass of steel, just judging from how effortlessly he carried her only a short time before. _Dear God_. What could the sex be like with a guy like that? Her throat was suddenly parched as she recalled the dream where she kissed him. Then, Rachel's heart froze with realization. _Holy shit. If we lived together, we've probably … had sex._ "Oh my God." Her hand found her stomach, running over it with trepidation. Coolness flooded her veins, the words seeming stuck inside of her. "So you're saying … Is the … the baby …?"

Sam squeezed the wheel, his eyes tearing up. She really didn't remember. Whatever spark Ketch saw and he thought he saw was gone when it came to her memories of their relationship. It was more painful than he imagined it could be. "Yeah," he murmured, sniffing and focusing on the road.

Rachel felt like she might die. _Holy shit. I'm carrying his child?! Well, according to him anyway._ Still, the timing was correct. And he did have those pictures ...

Neither spoke for the remaining couple of minutes it took for them to arrive at the cheap motel. Sam parked the car outside of his room, wetting his lips as he withdrew the key from the ignition. "You okay?" he asked quietly, looking over at her.

Rachel studied him, seeing the splatters of blood that decorated his flannel shirt and part of his face. His hands were stained with it, his jeans dotted with dark crimson. Still, he seemed nearly innocent as he looked at her, his kindness blooming through the horror painted over him. "No," she admitted, holding his gaze.

Sam nodded gently. "I know … I know this is all overwhelming. I promise you, I only want to keep you safe. It would kill me if anything happened to you." He paused, seeming conflicted. "But I know how hard this must be, and I want it to be your choice whether you stay with me or not."

Her fingers tightened around his jacket she wore, feeling the worn softness of the cotton under her fingertips. She was without pretty much everything, including underwear and shoes. What real choice did she have but to trust him?


	36. Chapter 36

Warmth ran through Rachel the longer she stared into Sam's eyes in the dim lighting of the parking lot. A peace filled her that she couldn't seem to explain. "I want to stay," she whispered, her pulse quickening as she briefly imagined him as her lover, her protector. Was it true? Was he the missing puzzle piece in her mind?

Silently, Sam exited the car and came around to her side, opening her door for her. After she unbuckled her seat belt, he lifted her into his arms. "What are you doing?" she asked, heart racing at the close proximity.

His fingers flexed over her back and thighs. "You don't have shoes," he replied, his warm breath coasting over her cheek.

"Oh. Right." Rachel took hold of Sam's neck as he kicked the door shut, locking the car and taking her to the room. She gripped tightly with her left hand as he knocked on the door with the toe of his boot, her fingers on her right brushing across the ends of his silky hair. Biting her bottom lip, Rachel felt them, hating how intoxicating it was to be so close to him. What if he was insane and she was just falling right for it? What if he would take her into the room and murder her? _No_. She couldn't explain it, but this apparent non-stranger stranger was trustworthy. Somehow, she just knew he was.

As Ketch answered the door, she quickly released Sam's hair, a queasiness flowing through her at the sight of him. "Well, I see you've executed Dean's messy plan, much to my disapproval," he mumbled as Sam carried her inside, setting her down on the floor as Ketch closed the door.

"Wait, what?" Rachel asked in shock as she eyed Sam. "So, you set me up." She backed away from them, anger wrinkling her brow. Of course he did. And this is how she would die, because she was an idiot.

"No, no, no," Sam urged, glaring at Ketch. "Ketch is just _really_ bad at phrasing things." He held his hand up as he stepped closer to Rachel. "Look, we knew you were here in New York. We tracked you when you went missing. And me and my brother, Dean, knew we needed to get you to safety, no matter what."

"So, you're kidnapping me," she concluded.

"No. Not exactly. It's your choice to come with me or not, remember? I brought you here to keep you safe. The rest is up to you."

Ketch scoffed. "Good God, you're a soft one. Nothing is up to her, you dimwitted giant. Unless you'd like to see her and the boy filleted by demons, that is."

"Quiet," Sam warned in a darkened tone.

"It's simple really, Pet," Ketch continued, ignoring Sam and addressing Rachel. "We _will_ take you back to the bunker, whether you like it or not, because it's all that will keep you alive. Reason being is, you've a bit of valuable cargo you're carrying. Quite a hot commodity for our far southern neighbors, in case you haven't noticed."

Sam turned to Ketch. "Enough," he snapped. "Give her a minute to breathe, dammit."

Ketch rolled his eyes, walking away toward his bed. "Sure. Take all the minutes you'd like. It's only our lives on the line the longer we delay, after all."

Rachel swallowed hard, watching Ketch flop angrily on his bed, still dressed in part of his suit from earlier. Did the guy ever relax? He seemed wound tighter than a top. And like a major asshole. She flicked her gaze back to Sam, wetting her lips. "Why do they want me?" she asked softly.

Sam gestured for her to sit on his rumpled bed; she complied, watching as he sat next to her. She saw his evident struggle, deciding in that moment to try to be as open minded and patient as possible. He said he could explain, so she would hear him out. "Rachel, when we …" Sam cleared his throat. "Your pregnancy wasn't planned. But through it came a boy with … with powers." He looked over at her. "I have demon blood in me from a demon named Azazel since I was six months old. He's long gone, but I'm the strongest of his chosen children. And now our son is even stronger, because he has demon blood from conception."

Rachel felt herself pale, her lips parting. "You really are nuts, aren't you?"

Sam rubbed his brow. "Rachel, I … Believe me, I know how this sounds, but you're a hunter. Surely what you've seen and killed is pretty damn strange." He examined her. "You saw what I did to those demons. You saw my power." He paused. "How did the first demon die?"

Blinking hard, Rachel was silent. The answer in her mind scared her. Could her unborn child have …? "It's … It can't …" She froze, realizing the way the first demon died was identical to how her baby's supposed father killed them. She looked up at Sam, seeing him patiently waiting, blood still dried all over him and his clothes. In the light of the motel room, his eyes seemed to cut through her, as if he were looking right inside of her. She felt tears run down her cheeks. She was pregnant with a demon. "It died like how you killed the others."

"Shh," Sam urged gently, wiping away her tears with a tender touch. "It's okay."

"So, I'm pregnant with a demon?" she asked through a sniffle.

"No," he assured. "Our son is human."

"How do you know? And how do you know it's a boy?"

Sam lowered his hand. "Castiel told us."

"Castiel?"

"... He's an angel. A seraph."

For a moment, she was silent, trying to forget what he just said for comfort's sake. She had nowhere else to go, but clearly she still had to, because he was delusional. "Well," she said, standing and taking his jacket off and tossing it on the bed, "thanks for, uh, everything, but I have to go. Because … yeah."

Sam stood, moving with her as she approached the door. "Please—"

"Listen," Rachel said, turning to him. She was immediately colder without his jacket, feeling nearly naked in her hospital gown. "I know you think your explanations are logical and relatively normal, but this is all seriously just downright wacky. I mean, demons? Angels? Blood heirs? Really?"

"You _saw_ them," Sam countered. "Hell, you _heard_ them." He stepped closer. "If I'm making this up, then so are they, right? And that would be pretty damn elaborate." She didn't reply. "Baby girl, I—"

Rachel held up her hand, surprised by the choice of pet name he used. It was what he used in her dream. "No. I still don't know you, so … yeah. Absolutely no pet names."

Sam cleared his throat. "Please," he continued softly, "look at the evidence as a hunter. Not as a person who doesn't know what we know." He laid his hand over her upper arm, immediately withdrawing it when she shied away. "All I ask is that you allow yourself to trust me, just a little. The memories … they may never come back. And I know how it all sounds. But I want to protect you, because I—" Rachel watched Sam as he stopped suddenly, seeing the way his tongue curled back to form an L sound. "Because I want you to be safe."

As she searched his eyes, her focus shifted to the blood that nearly covered him. Blood he had shed to protect her. She had called him at three in the morning, and he came, no questions asked. He believed her instantly, even when she didn't fully know what was happening. He risked himself to keep her and the baby she was carrying safe. And now he seemed desperate to keep her close, to protect her, even if she didn't reciprocate the relationship he felt he had with her. She had to pretend to at least half believe in his craziness, if only to help her unborn child. She needed resources before she could survive on her own, and she knew Sam would provide them. She wet her lips, giving him a small nod. "Okay," she whispered. "Where … Where are we going?"

"Lebanon, Kansas," Sam replied gently. "My brother and I have a bunker there. It's where we lived together. You have your things there."

"Oh." She drew the hospital gown around her as she tried to hold back a shiver. Immediately, Sam left her, rooting through his army green backpack and producing a white tee shirt and a pair of lounge pants.

"It's … It's all I have until I get out tomorrow. Then I'll pick you up stuff to get you through to Kansas." He handed the clothes to her, and she took them, running her fingers over the fabrics. They were soft, broken in. It was almost as if she had felt them before. _Stop. That. Right. Now._ Even if she was leaving New York with him, she couldn't afford to give into his madness. Being under Sam's protection was her best option without Vance, and the only reason to go along with Sam's incredible story.

"Thanks," she said quietly, feeling the cotton as she tried to swallow the sudden wave of nerves that flowed through her. "I, uh, will take a shower after you."

"It's okay," Sam insisted. "Go on. So you can get rest."

With a lingering glance, Rachel took the clothes and headed for the bathroom, Sam watching her until she closed the door with a quiet click. He exhaled a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his hand finding his dirty hair and running through it as he turned away toward his bed. "Bravo," he heard Ketch say behind him, "I didn't think it could be done."

"The truth isn't always a bad idea," Sam grumbled.

"True, but now we've got a larger problem on our hands. You do realize they'll pursue us the entire way back."

"I'm aware."

"Right. So, have you considered acquiring the proper fuel?"

Sam turned and looked at Ketch. "What do you mean?"

Ketch sighed. "Granted, it's not ideal, but God knows how many of these filthy things will be on our tail. It might not be a bad idea to indulge your cravings a bit."

"No," Sam growled, nostrils flared. "There's no way."

"Sam, there's no shame in it, if it's what needs to be done for Rachel's benefit."

Sam scoffed, turning away from him. "I'm gonna go call Dean," he mumbled, leaving the motel room with a bit more force than he intended to. How could Ketch even suggest he drink demon blood around Rachel? He was no longer bound to Lucifer's contract, with him stuck in the alternate world. Besides, if he started drinking it again, the craving would only intensify, and it could damage any chance he had at rebuilding a relationship with Rachel. He could keep her safe with the knife. … Couldn't he?

He took out his cell, dialing Dean's number. "Sam," Dean grumbled, half buried under blankets in bed, "it's like three in the morning."

"Four here," Sam mused, sighing. "She's with us."

"So, you're on the road? Did you have to tie her up?"

Sam shook his head. "Shit, Dean. No. I just told her the truth. After a bunch of demons tried to kill me. We're resting at the motel until the morning."

"Demons?" Dean asked, sitting up.

"Yeah. They seem keen on taking Robbie, because he's Azazel's blood heir."

"Fuck. I didn't even think about that."

"Me either. Guess with Asmodeus and Lucifer gone, they're looking for a new ruler. I think they nearly had the entire floor taken over to try and protect her. I'm just hoping they didn't put anything in her with her IV."

"So, she's okay?"

"She's shaken up, and probably thinks most of my marbles are gone, but for now, she seems compliant."

"She doesn't remember anything?"

"No." Sam drew in a deep breath. "It's like whatever spark she had is long gone."

"She'll come around. There's a lot happening. Once things get quieter, maybe it'll trigger the memories."

"... Or it won't, and they'll never come back."

"Sam-"

"Look, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Cart before the horse. Just take it one day at a time, alright? When your soul was restored, it's not like everything came flooding back instantaneously."

"Yeah, and I also went insane." He blew out a breath. "Alright, so I'm going to get back on the road by ten, after I get her some clothes and shoes. We should be back in about two days."

"Just be safe, okay? And call Cas if you need to."

"But isn't he helping you?"

"We're fine here. You need him, you call."

"How's Mom?"

Dean yawned. "She was impressed with how clean we've kept the bunker. Then she remembered Rachel lived with us, and took all the credit away from us."

Sam laughed softly. "And Bobby? Charlie?" He paused. "Jack?"

"Bobby and Charlie have been heading relocation for the others. Jack is …" Dean sighed. "Jack will be okay. I've been trying to keep him busy."

"Good," Sam replied. He wet his lips. "Alright, I have to go. Talk soon."

"See ya, Sammy."

Sam hung up the phone, staring out into the darkness for a few moments as he tucked his phone away. Robbie was in more danger than he realized. Being Azazel's heir hadn't even crossed his mind. Rachel said the other demon died, but she wasn't sure how. It had to have been Robbie protecting her. But he wasn't even halfway through gestation. How powerful would he be when he was born, or when he grew?

Chewing on his bottom lip, he re-entered the motel, seeing Rachel exiting the bathroom, her dark hair wet and fragrant. His clothes nearly swallowed her whole, the pants incredible long on her even though she had rolled the waistband up several times. He couldn't help but smile at her, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and to kiss her, to give her every ounce of himself. But the way she regarded him as a virtual stranger burned; he watched as she ducked her eyes away from his, quietly passing by him in the space he made as she headed for the loveseat. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asked, turning to her.

"Going to sleep?" she said, confused.

Sam laughed softly, shaking his head. "Not on the couch, you're not."

Rachel's lips parted. "I can't take your bed. You'd never fit on the couch anyway."

"I'll be fine. Take the bed."

"... You sure?"

"Of course I am."

She watched as his tongue darted quickly over his lips, recalling her dream kiss with him. Her spine tingled, both intrigued and terrified by the idea of being his supposed lover. "Thanks," she managed, looking away and moving to the bed, seeing how the covers were still rumpled from him likely being asleep when she initially called. Rachel climbed in, sinking into the same side he had used, drawing the blankets over herself.

She pressed her cheek to the cheap motel pillow, drawing in his clean scent that was trapped in the fibers. Sam crossed in front of her, digging through his bag and producing clean clothes before quietly disappearing into the bathroom for a shower. She shivered, an unexpected wave of nerves flowing through her. If he was right, they had shared a bed. What did that feel like? She had a glimpse of it when he carried her-his arms were thick and warm, secure. Despite not really knowing him, she felt safe pressed against his chest.

As she lay quietly, her headache became more pronounced, the swirl of events making her temporarily forget it was there. Since the dust had somewhat settled, it returned. She groaned softly, trying to ignore it as best as she could.

After Sam emerged from his shower, the room went dark; she heard Ketch rustle around on the bed across from her. She couldn't see into where the small loveseat was, where Sam had chose to sleep for the night. He was so tall-at least six foot three or four. He had to be cramped on there. Rachel drew in a deep breath. Should she offer to share the bed? It felt incredibly weird to consider it, but she also felt bad for him.

A sharp pain coursed through Rachel's temples. She grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut as white filled her vision. It was far more intense than her headache had been before. Curling into the fetal position, she silently suffered through the bright ache behind her eyes, hoping not to wake Sam or Ketch. Sam didn't need to worry about this too. She forced herself to try to relax, but instead was met with clear images that scared the living daylights out of her:

 _Sam gently took her arm, pulling her to stand in a dank warehouse of sorts. She had been crouched in front of something that she couldn't quite see in the dark haze over her vision. Still, she fought him. "No!" she screamed. He held her, she pounding against his arms and chest as he took her away from a large pole she had been near. It was something she cared about. She could feel it deep within her soul._

 _A dark-haired man in a trench coat took up her flashlight and gun, moving away near Sam as the man who looked like the Dean from her earlier dream moved toward the pole. "No!" she screamed._

 _"We need to, baby girl," Sam urged, pressing her close._

 _She quivered against him, clinging to his shirt. She cried out as Dean raised his gun, his hesitation clear. Sam turned her inward to his chest, pressing her head against himself and shielding her eyes as she sobbed and struggled to look. "No, don't," Sam whispered, keeping her tight to himself. "You don't want to."_

 _"Sam," she whispered through her tears._

 _"I'm here," he reminded her, drawing her as tight as he could to himself to block her view, covering her ears. He braced against her fight to see what was happening, kissing the top of her head. "No, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear, denying her the view she thought she wanted. "Just focus on me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving. You're not alone." Sam kept her blood-curdling scream muffled into his chest as Dean pulled the trigger, firing a round. "Shhh," he shuddered, pressing kisses on her head. "It's over. She's free, baby girl."_

Rachel bolted up from the bed with a gasp, Sam's white tee shirt hanging off one shoulder as she shuddered, panting. Sweat beaded her brow, the pain still there, but reduced. What the hell did she just see? Was it a dream? She was awake, though. She hadn't fallen asleep. Had she?

Instinctively, Rachel turned and punched Sam in the face as she felt him lay his hand on her shoulder, startled by his intimate presence and touch. Her jaw dropped when she realized what she had done, and she yanked her fist back. "Oh my God," she whispered, seeing Sam rubbing his cheek in the spliced bits of moonlight leaking through the curtains next to her. "I'm sorry. I …"

"It's okay," he assured with a soft laugh. His expression shifted as he looked her over. "Are you alright?"

"Just a … bad dream." One that made absolutely no sense. Her gaze fell on his chest, the gray V-neck tee shirt he wore highlighting his tanned skin. He looked like safety, peace. And he smelled like soap.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

Sam nodded. He turned toward the other bed when he heard Ketch snore softly. Brow arched, he looked back at Rachel, still squatting beside her. "Sorry about him," he murmured.

"It's okay," Rachel replied. Ketch's snoring was the least of her worries. She swallowed, recalling how tightly he held her in her dream she just woke from. Why was she craving a stranger's touch? _Maybe his story is true. Maybe we aren't strangers._ "Would you …" She froze, not missing how his eyes were locked on her. "Nevermind," she whispered, tugging on the blankets. _No. He definitely has a few screws loose._ "Thanks. I'm okay."

Sam stood slowly, gritting his molars together. He had felt her being so close to trusting him, to asking him to comfort her, if even for a moment. Was it only because she was spooked? Or did she begin to recall things? "Get some rest," he urged gently, offering her a brief smile.

Rachel looked him over as he stood, noting he was choosing to sleep in his jeans and boots. Was he afraid they'd have to escape quickly? She watched him walk into the darkness across from her, mostly disappearing from sight, though she did catch his lanky frame as it rested into an armchair. He wasn't even going to lay down. Guilt gnawed on her, looking at the empty space beside her. Still, she laid back down, pulling the blankets to her chin, doing her best to ignore it.


	37. Chapter 37

Rachel woke hours later, slowly blinking as she focused on the scent that danced under her nose. _Coffee. And bacon._ She sat up, pawing at her hair that had dried more erratically than usual, trying to smooth it as she looked around. The room was empty, but she noticed the coffee brewed in the pot on the table across from her, and the wrapped breakfast sandwich in front of it. Rachel stood, stretching as she approached it, her stomach rumbling as she caught a whiff of the bacon again. Lifting the sandwich, she revealed a note underneath:

 _ **I got you a few things this morning. It's all on the chair in the bag.  
I hope the sizes are right.  
Loading the car with some supplies Ketch picked up. **_

_**I'm right outside if you need me.**_

 _ **-Sam**_

Sitting at the table, Rachel poured herself a cup of coffee, mixing in two creamers and sipping it with a relieved sigh. She unwrapped the sandwich, nearly animalistic as she devoured it. It was her favorite-eggs, bacon, cheese, ketchup, and pepper on a roll. _Lucky guess?_ she tried to convince herself. Still, the ratio of ketchup and pepper was perfect. Too perfect for coincidence, it seemed.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, drawing in a deep breath and eyeing the unassuming shopping bag across from her. She stood, crossing to it and opening it up. Inside was a pair of maternity jeans, a soft green tee shirt, a black bra and a couple pairs of matching underwear, a set of pajamas, a pair of socks and tennis shoes, a small brush, hair ties, a toothbrush, and her brand of deodorant. Everything was her exact size, down to the letter. "Holy shit." _Maybe I should give him a chance. I mean, if he's doing all this as a trick, it's pretty damn elaborate. And expensive._

Taking all of the items, she changed in the bathroom, stunned at how everything worked perfectly for her body. It all fit like a glove, even the bra. Her eyes welled with tears. Why couldn't she remember Sam, if they were, in fact, a couple? He seemed to know so much about her, but she knew nothing of him, other than what she heard via the rumor mill and what he told her. She wrestled with herself, ultimately denying her heart its desire to believe him, to fully trust him. Stranger, weirder things had been done before in the name of stalking and crime. It would take more than an outfit to convince her he wasn't out to kill her or something.

Rachel exited the bathroom, her eyes falling on Sam as he came back into the room. "Hey," he said, pausing. "Does it … Does it all work for now?"

"It's perfect," she admitted, giving a small smile back. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Uh, yeah I do. This was at least a hundred and fifty bucks. Maybe two."

"It's no biggie."

"I'll repay you for it all."

"Stop. There's no need."

"You're a hunter. You're not rolling in dough."

"Pffft. It's not even a full game of pool."

Rachel smirked. "Cocky at hustling civilians, are we?"

Sam shrugged, his mouth curling into a lopsided smile. "Just confident."

"Bet I could take you in darts."

Sam's smile grew wider, recalling their game they had in Nebraska. "Oh yeah?" He moved closer to her, putting his hands in his jean pockets. "I accept. What are your terms?"

Rachel felt her pulse skyrocket, the flirtatious look Sam gave her making her nervous like a schoolgirl. "I win, I repay you for these clothes." She swallowed, his focus on her almost more than she could handle.

Sam nodded. "Alright." He wore a smolder as he closed the gap a little more. "If I win, I get to kiss you."

Her lips parted. "W-What?"

"You heard me." He watched her try to hide her subtle squirm, his tongue darting out over his lips. "But you're good at darts, so you won't have to worry about it, right?"

Before she could find the words to reply, the motel room door swung open. "Right, then," Ketch interrupted behind them with a huff. Sam looked at him over his shoulder. "We're all packed. So let's get on the road, shall we?"

Sam gestured to the open door to Rachel, who walked past him, giving him a subtle look before she left. Ketch followed her, leaving Sam at the end. A smile played around his lips, his stomach knotting. He knew he had taken a risk, but it proved to pay off. She didn't threaten his life, at least. Maybe there was hope for them just yet.

* * *

Six hours into their drive back, Rachel shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. "Guys, I'm sorry, I've gotta pee."

Ketch sighed. "Dammit. Can't you deal with it until we stop for the night?"

"Uh, sure," Rachel replied, glaring at him. "Let me just pull my dick out and piss in a bottle. Oh wait. I don't have one. And I've got a human being pressing on my bladder."

"'Least you hope it's human."

"Hey," Sam barked, gripping the steering wheel. Tensions were running high since the minute Ketch and Rachel were forced to share a small space, it only getting worse with each passing hour. "Quiet," he warned Ketch. He flicked his eyes back at Rachel in the mirror. "Next rest stop is in forty miles or so. Can you hold it?"

Sighing, Rachel leaned against the back seat. "Guess I'll have to."

"We'll see if there's anything in between," he assured.

"Sure," Ketch grumbled, "because another delay like back in Pennsylvania is just what we need."

"Screw you," Rachel sneered.

"I'm flattered, but Sam's beaten me to the punch," Ketch quipped.

"Stop it," Sam shouted, feeling his pulse quicken. The car fell silent, Sam's jaw ticking as he focused on the highway. "You," he said to Ketch stiffly, "that's enough."

"You should tell her the same about her tendency to make stops," Ketch muttered.

"Eat me, dick," Rachel grumbled.

"Again, with the suggestiveness. Something you'd care to admit?"

"Hey!" Sam shouted to both of them. "Enough!" Rachel saw he was more than irritated. "Just … ignore him, alright? You need to watch your blood pressure."

Rolling her eyes, she pressed her back against the cushions, trying to shift her position to make herself more comfortable for the next forty minutes or so. Ketch looked out the windshield with an arched brow. No one spoke, Sam's grip on the steering wheel whitening his knuckles. Even if Rachel didn't remember things, one thing was for sure-she and Ketch were never meant to get along, not even amicably.

Spotting a small dive ahead about ten minutes later, Sam made a quick lane shift and pulled over into the gravel parking lot, kicking up clouds of dust as he barrelled in. He stopped the car with an abrupt brake, everyone lurching forward a little. "Sorry," he apologized, seeing how Rachel covered her mouth.

"Oh God," she moaned, throwing open her door and running out toward the grassy edge of the lot. Sam winced when he saw her in the rearview mirror hunched over, clearly throwing up.

"You," he said to Ketch with a glare. "Knock it off with her." He eyed him, Ketch giving him an unimpressed look. "She's my girlfriend. So, show some respect."

Ketch smirked. "Technically, she's not your girlfriend anymore. You need to earn that back."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "I'm still willing to unload that clip in you." He threw open his door, slamming it shut as he crossed back to Rachel, who straightened and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You okay?" he asked as he approached her.

"Yeah," she murmured, drawing in a deep breath. "Bacon the second time around doesn't taste as good."

Sam ran his hand over her upper back, tenderly stroking her as she turned to him in surprise. "Sorry," he said, withdrawing his hand, hiding the pain it caused. For a moment, he was at the Nebraska church with her, able to comfort her from the horrors it rebirthed in her mind. For a moment, she was trusting of him, allowing him to protect and care for her. For a moment, it was all as it should have been.

"I'll, uh, just go use the bathroom so Ketch doesn't freak," she said quickly, scurrying away from him, her heart racing. She knew he was entirely conflicted, but having him inclined to be so intimate with her was overwhelming. Sam was convinced they had been something, but she didn't recall a single detail. She couldn't allow herself to go against her better judgment for his sake. That was how you got hurt-really hurt, in some cases.

Rachel opened the chipped white bathroom door on the exterior of the small truck stop eatery, shutting it behind her. It was a single stall, the lock a mere hook and eye on the interior. "Great." She hooked it shut, quickly taking care of business with a sigh of relief.

As she stood and pulled up her jeans, she heard footsteps outside of the door. She flushed, quickly washing her hands, eager to get back to Sam. There was something about the entire place that creeped her out. As she dried her hands on the meager piece of paper towel she managed to free from the jammed dispenser, a bang resounded on the door. "Just a sec," she said, heart thumping as she waited for some kind of polite response. There was nothing.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Rachel unhooked the door with a shaky hand, opening it. Outside was a middle-aged woman with unnaturally purple-tinted red hair and a rounded figure. "About damn time," she grumbled.

"Sorry," Rachel replied, swearing she had been pretty quick. Still, the woman seemed the type to be miserable, no matter what. "All yours." As she stepped toward the right to exit, the woman grabbed her wrist.

"Shh," the woman smirked, Rachel gasping at her unnatural strength. "There's no one to scream for anyway, Rachel." Rachel's jaw dropped as the woman's eyes flashed black. "Told you he'd be ours."

"Sam!" Rachel screamed anyway, trying to slam the rickety door shut, but unsuccessful as her back slammed against the dirty tile wall the demon threw her into it, pinning her there.

"He's dead," the woman replied. "Now, you have a choice-you can fight and lose, or comply and live."

"Go to hell," Rachel snarled. " _Sam!_ "

Hearing her faintly from where he stood outside of the car, Sam grabbed the demon blade and bolted toward the bathroom, Ketch behind him. Two burly men rounded the corner as they approached the back of the building, their eyes flashing black as they grinned. The bigger of the two lunged for Sam, wrapping his thick hands around Sam's neck and tossing him yards away onto the gravel lot, the blade falling from his hand. Ketch was punched by the second demon, the hard blow knocking him down as blood oozed from his lip.

Sam stood, immediately gripping both demons, hand shaking as his fingers curved into a tight fist. His nostrils flared, jaw ticking as he smoked them out, the pain nearly unbearable without the proper fuel. Blood leaked from his nose. He was painfully low. If he wanted to keep one step ahead of them, he had to drink more blood, and fast.

When the two demons were dealt with, Sam grabbed his knife and rushed to the women's room, throwing open the door. Without a second thought, he slammed the knife into the woman's back, pulling the vessel off of Rachel as the demon died. Panting, Sam let the body drop, looking at Rachel, who broke away from the wall. "You okay?" he asked. She nodded, stunned.

"Come on," they heard Ketch say behind them; Sam turned and looked at him. "The bodies are out of sight. I'll get her back in the car." Ketch wet his lips, eyeing Sam suggestively. "You take care of this," he added with a nod to the body. "Quickly."

Sam's heart raced. He knew what Ketch was implying he should do, but was it right? Was it safe? Still, this wasn't the last of the demons until they got back to the bunker. He knew that. With a small nod, Sam handed Ketch the knife. "Go," he murmured to Rachel, urging her forward.

Rachel passed him with wrinkled brows. "Just … leave it, Sam. I mean, what can you do with-"

"Just go," Sam snapped, seeing her surprised reaction. Before he could apologize, she was gone, Ketch following closely behind her after giving Sam another small nod. Sam groaned, looking at the body as the blood leaked out of the woman's back. His stomach lurched in starvation, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Sweat dotted his brow as he wrestled with what he was about to do. He closed his eyes, craning his neck and shutting the bathroom door with a heavy thud, spinning around with a small smile playing on his lips.

A couple minutes later, Sam silently climbed back into the driver's seat. He started the car without a second thought, catching Rachel's arched brow in the rearview mirror. Sam pulled out onto the road, drawing in a deep breath. It was for her. All of it. Her and Robbie.

Wasn't it?


	38. Chapter 38

It was pitch black by the time they crossed into Indianapolis. Sam pulled the car into the Raceway Motel, parking it and shutting off the ignition. Ketch exited the car, sighing as he stretched his legs and shut the door. "I'll go get the rooms," he said, walking toward the office.

Sam glanced into the backseat, smiling when he saw Rachel asleep still, his jacket still balled up under her head as a pillow. He had given it to her a couple hours back when he noticed her trying to get comfortable.

He reached into the backseat, gently stroking her arm. His breath hitched; her skin was warm, soft, familiar. "Rachel," he whispered, seeing her stir. He watched as she blinked her eyes open, focusing on him. "We're at the motel." He retracted his hand, looking toward the steering wheel and taking out the keys, trying to ignore how good it felt to touch her. If he wanted any shot of winning her a second time, he needed to respect the divide between them. Though everything in him wanted to claim her as his rightful own, he fought it, hating Lucifer more with each moment than he thought ever possible.

Ketch tried to get two rooms, but ended up with one double on availability. As the three entered it, Sam sighed, looking at the armchair in the corner. He was stiff from the night prior spent in an awkward position, then from driving for twelve hours. He was not looking forward to another night on a chair. Knowing Ketch would never give up his bed because of how he threatened him regarding Rachel, Sam tossed his bag on the floor next to the chair, craning his neck from side to side.

Rachel didn't fail to notice Sam's reluctance. She rested the paper shopping bag containing her few belongings Sam bought her on the bed, hesitating with what to do. Ketch had already claimed the other bed with his duffel, and the bathroom, the shower running behind the closed door. "You go next," she heard Sam say, watching him as he sunk into the armchair. "Hopefully he won't use all the hot water on you on principal."

"He's an asshole," Rachel blurted, pausing right after. "I mean, he's just …"

Sam laughed through his nose. "No, you're right. He is."

"Why do you work with him, then?"

"Long story. Basically we've never had much of a choice."

"Ah." Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. "Did, uh, you want me to drive tomorrow?"

"No license, remember?"

"Right." She sighed.

"It's okay. I'm used to long drives," he assured gently.

"You roadtrip a lot?"

Sam shifted in his seat. "My brother and I don't tend to stay local for cases. We've crossed the country more times than I can count."

"Ah." She twisted at her fingers as her hands rested in her lap, feeling him looking her over. "I've never really gone further than Illinois. But I haven't been hunting long."

"When did you start?"

"About two years ago." Rachel flicked her eyes up to Sam. For whatever reason, it felt comfortable talking to him, forgetting for the moment that he would likely act like he knew her story anyway. "My boyfriend at the time got bit by a werewolf. He was okay at first, but then he changed." She paused. "I … I shot him with silver, but missed his heart. Another hunter finished the job."

Sam's brow arched subtly. He didn't know that detail. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"He wasn't Alex," she replied with a small shrug.

Sam watched her, observing the way she tried to brush aside the memory with no consequence. In so many ways, she reminded him of Dean. She would rarely take no for an answer, didn't deal with her feelings very easily, and had an appetite for bacon. It was a wonder she didn't initially fall for Dean based on similarities instead of him. Rachel seemed soothed by the opposite qualities in Sam, though. Or, at least, she once was—when she knew him. "I'm here if you want to talk about it," he murmured, catching the slight surprise in her reaction.

"I'm okay," Rachel insisted, forcing a smile. It faded a little when she held Sam's intent gaze. "Thanks, though."

The bathroom door opened, Ketch exiting wordlessly and slumping onto his bed. Sam nodded to it to Rachel, politely looking away as she passed by him and closed the door shut. He drew in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. When he initially heard from Rowena what Lucifer had done to Rachel's mind, he was worried, but he didn't realize the full scope of things until he interacted with her. He had just assumed she'd see him and it would come back to her. Instead, she regarded him like a virtual stranger, likely only trusting of him thus far for the sake of the baby inside of her. He knew how she thought—she was using him for resources, and nothing more. He couldn't be mad at her. It was the hunter way. Still, it stung. After having her in such an intimate capacity, then seeing her like this, it was enough to drive him wild, and to break him.

Lucifer knew what he was doing.

* * *

It was nearly an hour later when Sam finally settled in for the remaining few hours of night, freshly washed but still fully dressed. He didn't allow himself the luxury of full relaxation, not with so many threats against Rachel in such a short span of time. Dressed in his jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots, Sam leaned into the armchair, unable to help but observe Rachel as she slept on the bed across from him. He'd give anything to lay with her, just to hold her, to feel her close. She was right within reach, but thousands of miles away.

His brow furrowed when he saw her squirm under the blanket. Lifting his chin, he watched, standing when she began to thrash. He crossed to the bedside, squatting beside her and hesitantly reaching out to stroke her. "Rachel," he whispered, her curled up form only partially lit by the moonlight. "It's okay. Wake up."

Sam jumped back when Rachel bolted awake, afraid she might deck him again. She just stared at him, though, lips parted as she sucked in short breaths. Her heart raced, fists tight around the blankets over her as she examined Sam's face. "Who is Arioch?" she whispered.

Sam wet his lips, hesitating with the response he'd use. "He was a Watcher, a grigori. A fallen angel."

Rachel stared blankly at him. "Was … was he the poltergeist?"

Mouth open, Sam swiped his hand over his face. "No," he finally admitted. "But he was part of that case."

"Oh." Rachel felt a shiver run through her, trying to suppress it. She shifted her legs, gritting her molars together to try to find strength. Still, Sam's broad frame called to her, beckoning to partake in the peace it seemed to offer. "He was a nasty son of a bitch, wasn't he?" she whispered, seeing the pain in Sam's face.

Sam nodded, unable to swallow the bitterness. "I've never been more happy to gank something." Though his eyes were open, he momentarily saw Rachel's limp, bloody body after he stabbed it, wishing he could reverse the damage the memory did by holding her now.

Rachel swallowed. Sam didn't seem in a hurry to leave her side. It was now or never. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

She froze. Was this right? "I, uh …" She shivered.

"You cold?" Sam asked. Before she could reply, he stood, grabbing his coat and putting it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured, wishing it were his arms instead.

Sam nodded, glancing to Ketch, who was sound asleep. "I'd happily rip a blanket off of him, but we still have to deal with him for a day or so."

Rachel smiled softly. "Yeah, I definitely don't want to hear him whine."

Her hair had moved a bit near her eyes; Sam reached to fix it, yanking his hand back immediately when he realized what he was doing. "Get some rest," he said, straightening. Before he could screw things up, he retreated to the armchair, avoiding eye contact with Rachel.

He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. He had far too much ache within to rest.

* * *

The closer they got to Kansas, the more afraid Rachel became. There was so much she would have to deal with—at least two other people who would claim to know her, according to Sam, and the awkwardness of being around all of them at once. If Sam was right, though, the bunker was her best bet to regroup, then figure out her next move. She'd have the resources to track down Vance, hopeful he had the answers she sought. Sure, Sam had given her explanations, but they were almost too wild to believe. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe them.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder about Sam, about the things he said. Despite her status as a hunter, she wasn't keen on believing things willy nilly. He seemed so sure, though, and he also seemed like an honest person. He wasn't the pathological liar type. Or, if he was, then he was damn good at what he did.

Rachel watched Sam as he drove, the sky darkening as they neared Jacksonville, Illinois. They ran into trouble when they got a flat at the Illinois border; locating a shop with a tire that fit a classic car wasn't easy, fast, or cheap. "What's it, like eight or nine hours to Lebanon?" she asked.

"Just about," Sam replied, stifling a yawn.

"Maybe we should do a layover."

"I'll be alright."

Rachel eyed Ketch's slumped figure as he slept in the front seat. "Don't know why he can't drive."

"It's okay."

"For someone who's supposed to be helpful, he only seems to be a pain in the ass."

Sam couldn't help but smirk. "Good to know some things don't change."

"Oh, right." Rachel nodded. "We didn't get along before, huh?"

"Cats and dogs. Oil and water." Sam sighed, feeling the ache in his back from the day. "Maybe you're right. There's a motel about five miles from here. It'll be more comfortable for you too."

"I wasn't … thinking about—"

"I know," he assured, flicking his eyes to the mirror and catching hers. "I was."

His simple response stuck with her, even after they pulled into the Seasons Motel lot. Ketch wasn't all that keen on sleeping overnight, but he stayed quiet for the most part.

"Two rooms, please," Sam said to the elderly man wearing overalls at the front desk. "One double, one single."

"Sorry, son," the man replied. "I've got two singles with a queen in each. No double twins."

Nodding, Sam took out his card and gave it to the attendant. "We'll take it." He watched as the card was rung through, scribbling out a sloppy signature and taking the keys he was handed. "Thanks."

Back outside, the trio headed to the rooms; Sam was relieved they were next to each other. He handed Rachel a key. "Come over if you need anything."

"Okay," she replied, her fingers brushing his palm as she took the key. She immediately felt bad as she watched Sam follow Ketch into the room, seeing how he tried to conceal the stiff ache the last 48 hours bestowed on him.

Closing herself in the motel room, Rachel sighed, twisting the lock shut and tossing her bag near the bed. She was too tired to shower, so she just stripped down and freshened up, flopping in bed ten minutes later.

As she laid, she stared at the far wall, wondering if Ketch would be less of a dick and let Sam use the bed. Probably not. He'd rather let Sam suffer, the asshole. Why hadn't Sam and his brother killed him yet?

Forty-five minutes passed before Rachel groaned and sat up, unable to sleep. It was mostly her guilt over Sam keeping her awake, though the idea of demons around every corner wasn't exactly helping. _We're adults. We can share a bed without complications._

Slipping on her tennis shoes, she palmed her key and left her room, hesitating before knocking on the guys' door. Sam greeted her, still fully dressed though the room was dark. "You okay?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied. "I, uh …" Rachel paused, realizing she was wearing the shorts and tank top he bought her out in public. And in front of him. "I … Come to my room," she blurted out, swallowing hard after. _Oh God. You're an idiot._

Sam's brow creased as he examined her. "Is there something wrong with it?"

 _Oh my God, stop making this harder than it already is._ "No. I … just … um …" She paused, shutting her eyes. "Just, come."

Sam watched Rachel as she turned and quickly ducked back into her room. With a glance over his shoulder, he followed her out with a wrinkled brow, leaving the key with Ketch.


	39. Chapter 39

Sam entered Rachel's room, clicking the door shut. Warm lamp light bathed a small portion of the bed area. "Is everything okay?" he asked, lingering near the door as he saw her toe off her shoes and climb into one side of the bed, remaining sitting up.

Rachel sighed. "Look, I know how … weird … this is for me to suggest, but I can't deal with knowing the Jolly Green Giant is bent into weird shapes for another night." She paused, courage beginning to slip away. She tilted her head to the space next to her. "Get a decent night's sleep. It's the least I can do after you saved my life twice now."

Brow raised, Sam looked at it, wetting his lips. He definitely wasn't expecting that. "Are you, uh, are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just … stay on your side."

Sam wasn't sure what was worse—sleeping in an armchair, or next to the woman he loved without being able to hold her. He sniffed. "Okay," he murmured, clicking the lock shut and crossing to the bed. Taking off his boots, Sam drew back the blanket carefully, his stomach knotting with strange nerves as he watched Rachel take off her glasses, rest them on the nightstand, and slide under the covers. This was his girlfriend—why was he afraid?

Rachel stiffened a little as Sam's body weight shifted her toward the center though he gingerly climbed in. His warmth immediately drifted over her, his scent lingering in the space between them. She knew he was tall, but being in bed next to him made him seem like a giant. Between his broad frame and long legs, even laying on the very edge of his side of the bed, he was nearly touching her. Flat on his back like a cadaver, he looked like he was afraid to breathe, for fear he might shift closer by accident. Rachel drew in a deep breath, hoping she wasn't being too weird. "Move over," she murmured.

Sam cleared his throat. "I, uh, can't go any further."

"No, dufus," Rachel sighed. She grabbed his bicep and tugged him toward the center, noticing just how muscular his arm was. "This way."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," she interrupted, not realizing she was still clinging to his arm. "Just … don't get fresh, okay? I'm good with a knife, and I stole one from your bag. It's under my pillow."

Sam let her move him to a more comfortable spot, his heart racing as he saw her settle in on her side, facing him. He lifted his arm up and over her head, giving her more room as he laid it around her without contact. He drew in a deep breath, panic and relief washing over him simultaneously as she tentatively took up the space in the crook of his arm, her head resting on the edge of his chest. It felt too damn good, her against him, even if it was minimal. Still, he kept his hand away, trying to respect her wishes.

"Relax," she chided him. "It's like laying on a board."

"Sorry," he murmured, trying to minimize contact but help her be comfortable. He wound up more rigid than before.

Rachel blew out a breath. This wasn't working, not with him being so tense. "Look," she said, "you take up more space than I thought. Obviously we can't avoid touching and be comfortable, so ... just … just lay how … how you would normally with me. The idea is for you to rest." _Oh dear God, what am I doing right now?_

"That would require more contact," he countered in a soft tone.

Digging up the courage, Rachel looked up into Sam's eyes, not realizing just how close his lips were to hers. "I know," she replied. "It's okay. I just want you to be able to relax."

Sam immediately shifted into his normal position with her, drawing her tightly to himself and wrapping his arms around her. Rachel shivered, the intimate embrace more powerful than she anticipated. He cradled her to his chest, cocooning her with a tender touch, the comfortable nook he made for her shaped to experienced perfection. His long arm draped over her, his fingers finding her rounded belly and stroking it. She didn't stop him. There was no need to, with how right it all felt. She melted into his embrace, more comfortable than she imagined possible with how close she was to him. Rachel felt Sam's breath coast through her hair as he nuzzled his nose into her waves with a satisfied sigh. "You okay?" he asked gently.

She was more than okay. She never wanted him to stop holding her. Their bodies fit together so well, his tender, protective embrace a soothing balm to her fears. "Yeah," she whispered. "You?"

She swore she heard him swallow a groan, the low rumble in his throat making heat bloom through her. "Yeah," he murmured in reply, his tone husky.

They lay together for a few long moments in silence, Rachel soaking in the safety Sam provided her. Everything about them together felt so right that it was hard to doubt his claim of their intimate relationship. He knew the nuances of her body, and how to make her perfectly comfortable within his embrace—things a lover would come to know. "What if you're right?" she whispered, absentmindedly drawing small lines across his toned stomach over his shirt with her fingertip.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What if you're right about us?"

Sam couldn't help but smile. "Well, I could argue that I am, but go on."

"I just mean …" She listened to the steady beat of his heart as she rested her head on his chest. "Say, there's irrefutable proof that we were once … something. What if I can't remember it? What if I don't ever remember us?"

Silence lingered between them as Sam contemplated his answer. "Ultimately, that's up to you," he finally replied, hating the response. He didn't want it left up to her. He wanted his Rachel back, his dream to still be intact. Still, in the circumstance she proposed, he couldn't expect her to pick up where they left off. It wouldn't be right, or fair. "I'd never force you to do anything, even with Robbie."

"Robbie?" Rachel lifted her head, looking into Sam's eyes. "Who's Robbie?"

"Our son," Sam murmured sadly. "His name was going to be Robert Jonathan Winchester. Robbie for short."

Rachel nipped at her bottom lip. "Oh." Slowly, she set her head back down on his chest, her mind spinning. What would constitute as irrefutable proof? He had dated pictures, he knew things no one else would … what was she looking to receive, a personal sign from God? But how could she fall into an already-developed relationship with a man she couldn't remember, and didn't really know?

"Tell me more about us," she decided to request, hoping a story would light a spark of memory for her.

"We met in Nebraska. You were posing as an FBI agent, but then we learned you were a hunter. We worked on a case together, you, me, and Dean."

"The poltergeist?"

"... Yeah." He smiled against her. "I was researching and you actually wanted to help me. Dean never _wants_ to help, so it was a welcomed surprise. You wore your glasses and this Yankees sweatshirt, and …" He laughed softly. "And you looked so damn cute that I could barely focus. Took everything I had to not stare at you. Then, you fell asleep against my shoulder. That's when I knew I was done."

Rachel felt her cheeks heat up. Vance hated her in glasses. He always said she looked better without them. "You have a thing for glasses, huh?"

"Just yours," he replied in a husky tone, sending gooseflesh running up her arms. He cleared his throat. "After the case, you came to live with us at the bunker. You needed somewhere to stay, and I guess you didn't mind me," he said teasingly. She smiled softly in response. "We, uh, discovered you were pregnant, and …" Sam stopped. The story resembled a piece of Swiss cheese with all of its holes. Finding the delicate balance of information without overloading was difficult. "And I was keeping a secret from you," he continued. "We were fighting when I left. Sort of. But I made you a promise to tell you what I didn't, and I … never got to make good on it when I came back."

"When you came back from where?"

"... The Apocalypse World."

"Right." _There's the crazy again._

"It's okay," Sam assured. "It's a tall order to believe from a … stranger."

Hearing him call himself that pained her from the evident sadness it caused him. "It's just …" She sighed, a proper explanation of her position failing her. "I know you don't think you are one, but I can't describe how it feels for me to hear you think we're something, but for me to not have a single speck of memory of you."

Sam nodded, his nose running through her hair. Heat ran over her, the inadvertent brush of his lips on her forehead like a pleasurable, searing hot burn. "Like I said, tall order."

Rachel's fingers traveled over Sam's stomach as it rose and fell. She paused with a thought, laying her palm on it. "Tell me now," she urged quietly.

"Tell you … what?"

"The secret." She pushed up on his abs, and looked into his eyes. "Maybe it'll help if you tell me now."

The idea made Sam nauseous. It was a perfect way for him to drive her away for good. "I would, but there's too much you don't remember for it to make sense," he replied, drinking in the depths of her brown eyes.

"So, our relationship was messy," she concluded.

"I was," Sam corrected gently. "You gave me everything—you gave me your trust from Day One. And I wasn't nearly as good to you in return, even though I thought I was."

There was evident sadness in his eyes, guilt he harbored reflected in them. "I forgive you," she offered.

"That's kind of you," Sam murmured with a small smile, "but I can't accept that until you fully remember."

"What if I don't, though? You can't keep that guilt with you if it doesn't come back to me."

"It will." He seemed confident.

Rachel studied Sam's strong jawline; the stubble on it begged to be stroked. His thick brown hair looked so silky. She wanted to simultaneously feel the contrast between the two. "Maybe words aren't enough," she said softly; she could see how it sped up Sam's breathing.

"What do you mean?"

 _I don't really know, but we're about to find out._ Rachel propped herself up a little more. "Maybe words aren't strong enough for the memories." She swallowed hard as she watched his tongue quickly wet his lips. Her pulse was practically deafening in her ears as Sam cupped the side of her face, his fingers raking into her hair. His thumb stroked over her cheek as he examined her, she fighting back the tremble his electric touch had caused.

"Rachel." The way he said her name sounded like a reverent prayer. Everything inside of her twisted and knotted, her stomach giving birth to a massive swarm of butterflies that radiated pure heat over every inch of her. If this man wasn't previously her lover, then he needed to be her current one. It was too hard to keep denying the chemistry and connection between them. It was there every time they were close to each other, whether she wanted to admit it or not. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes," she whispered, her breath nearly stopping from how he looked at her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because if you—"

"Dammit, Sam. Just shut up and kiss me."

Then, all at once, his mouth was on hers, his lips hungry and sure as he explored hers with a heady groan. An immediate whimper caught in her throat, she powerless under his attack. Eventually, she came out of her daze and reciprocated the kiss, which only seemed to intensify his. Sam's fingers tightened around her hair, his arm that cradled her now supporting her as he pressed his mouth on hers. His tongue slid across her bottom lip, she granting him the access he desired as he grunted and pulled her onto his lap.

Sam laid back flat on the mattress as he drew Rachel down onto his chest, minding her rounded stomach as his hands skimmed over her backside. He gripped it tightly and pressed their bodies together. Rachel's lips parted in shock over his boldness, releasing his mouth as she felt his member against her center, her eyes closing at the feverish sensation. With a rumbled groan, Sam ran his hands up over her curves, threading his fingers through her hair with a possessiveness that lit her on fire. His stubble scraped against her cheek as he traveled from her mouth and trailed hot kisses over her skin across her jaw and neck. Her fingers twisted into his hair with satisfaction, eyes shut as she straddled him and let him be in control. If she knew nothing else about Sam Winchester, she knew the man knew how to kiss. And it sure as hell seemed like he knew how to do the rest.

Rachel gasped and curled inward as a painful burst of white light flooded her closed eyes. She felt Sam immediately loosen his grip a little, barely hearing his concerned voice as she struggled through the stark brightness that struck her temples. It was unforgiving, painful. All she could see was blinding white, Sam's face hidden behind it.

"Rachel!" Sam pleaded repeatedly, finally helping her out of the light that had trapped her. Rachel blinked with a creased brow as she looked down at him, still straddling him as the currents ran through her. He immediately sat up, guiding her to sit next to him, his hands feather light as he examined her. "Are you okay?"

"No," she admitted, still trying to bring his face into focus. It felt like someone was playing a game of Whack A Mole with her brain. She looked up at him, nearly in tears. "My head … is killing me."

"Cas!" Sam called out, turning at the waist in the darkened room. "Cas, please. Rachel needs-"

Castiel flapped into the room, Rachel screaming in shock as he approached her. She jumped off the mattress, snatching the knife under her pillow. Flipping it open, she backed away toward the bathroom door. "What the … Who the hell are you?"

"Rachel, it's okay," Sam assured, standing and beginning to approach her. "This is Castiel, the angel I told you about before."

"Don't," Rachel barked, holding her hand up and stopping Castiel from coming any closer. She examined the dark haired man in a trench coat, lips parting. She had seen him before in her dream. "Sam," she shuddered, feeling more than powerless, "please … What the hell is going on?"

"It's okay, I promise," Sam said gently, crossing toward her with raised hands. When he neared her, he stepped between her and Castiel and plucked the knife from her quivering fingers, stuffing it into his jean pocket. "Listen to me: Has this happened before?" Seeing her still-stunned expression as she stared at Castiel, he carefully hooked her chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting her head up to look at him. "Rachel," he whispered, seeing the creases across her forehead from her confusion and evident physical pain. "Have you had these headaches before?"

Rachel thought back to the hospital, when even prescription pain medicine wouldn't help. She had carried the dull ache with her for days. "Yes."

"Did they come after vivid dreams?"

She swallowed. "Yes. Just not this one."

Sam looked at Castiel over his shoulder. "Cas, please." He felt Rachel tense as the angel approached. "Shh, it's okay, baby girl," he soothed, clearly forgetting her earlier instructions. In that moment, it wasn't her highest priority. She gripped Sam's forearm in a bit of fear as Castiel rested two fingers on her head for a solid ten seconds. Within the space of three heartbeats after, the ache was completely gone, nothing left behind. She stared at Castiel, dumbfounded.

"How … How did you …?"

"I'm an angel," Castiel replied. His blue eyes searched hers intently; Sam noticed the evident surprise and concern in his expression. "She has seen some things," he quietly informed Sam. "Though, I'm not certain of their accuracy."

Rachel's eyes widened. "No, they were just dreams," she stammered.

"I can assure you, they're not."

"What have you seen?" Sam asked, his hand still on her face.

She felt suddenly nervous with how he obviously anticipated her answer. "It … I … Whatever I saw, they aren't things I remember. And they don't make sense."

"Try me."

"Well, there was one about a wendigo, and a pit, and you got mad at your brother for using me as bait. It was a close call."

Sam nodded eagerly. "What else?"

"Just …" Rachel paused, recalling Arioch's chilling voice. "I don't know. It was dark … and I heard Arioch speaking." She focused on Sam. "But I don't … I don't feel like they're my memories."

"It'll come back to you," Sam replied. "Can you restore her?" he asked Castiel, missing his look of objection to his assurance to Rachel.

"No," Castiel replied sadly. "Lucifer's power is greater than I can influence. It won't be able to be undone by anyone less than a full-strength archangel."

"Of course." He just happened to be fresh out of friendly full-juiced archangels. Sam shut his eyes with a sigh.

"Seems as though the child is getting stronger," Castiel noted. "I can feel his power."

Sam could already tell Robbie was gaining strength. His son's scent was driving him insane. He needed a detox from demon blood desperately, but couldn't afford it until Rachel was stable. "Can you bring her back to the bunker, Cas?" he asked, absentmindedly running his thumb over Rachel's cheek. "We've run into more trouble than anticipated. I'm afraid he'll attract the wrong type of attention. I'd rather her be inaccessible to them."

Castiel's focus shifted to Sam; his eyes narrowed a little as he studied him. "Tell me you didn't," he said, not hiding his disappointment.

"Not now," Sam warned.

"Sam—"

"Cas," Sam growled, "I said, not now." His pulse quickened; his hand slipped from Rachel's cheek. "Just … get her to safety for me. Ketch and I will be there by tomorrow night."

Castiel's mouth pressed to a thin line. Rachel had no idea what the angel was pissed about, but it was clearly something that Sam wasn't willing to talk about in front of her. "Leave the car," Castiel countered, seeming to hold back his contempt for the time being. "I can take all of you."

"It's okay," Sam insisted. "I'd rather not leave a trail." He looked down at Rachel, turning her toward him and blocking Castiel with his back. "Listen," he said softly, his hands finding her upper arms, "Cas is going to take you home. You'll be safest there, and you can get some real rest."

Rachel hated herself for her desperation, but despite the weirdness of Castiel, Sam had given her peace and safety she desperately needed. It nearly felt like she knew him, though she knew she didn't. She didn't want to lose that. "But … What about the demons?"

"I can handle them," Sam assured her. "I just need to make sure you're protected."

She swallowed hard. "So, they were memories?" she asked.

"More than likely."

"Why don't I remember them, then? They felt foreign."

"It might take time." He dared to tuck a section of hair behind her ear. Sam held his breath as Rachel pressed herself to him. He didn't waste the opportunity, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. "Shhh, I've got you," he whispered against her hair.

"Sam." A sense of peace flooded her as he held her. Was she beginning to recall his touch? Or was it just the comfort of knowing someone cared provided? "I want to stay with you. I don't … I don't know anyone there."

"You can trust them," Sam assured gently. "Dean will take care of you. And I'll be there by tomorrow night."

Rachel quietly pulled away from his embrace, taking up her clothes and closing herself into the bathroom to dress. When she re-emerged, Sam watched her as she approach. He saw the hesitance in her eyes and ran his hand through her hair, encouraged by the intimacy she seemed to need. He didn't want to stop touching her, soothing her. It felt like she was so close to remembering him, and now he was sending her ahead of himself. Still, he knew getting her to the bunker was priority. "You'll be safe at the bunker." Sam looked back at Castiel. "Keep an eye on her, 'kay? In case she has any more visions. And tell Dean to make sure she has space. Her stuff is in our … my room."

With a gentle squeeze on her upper arm, Sam urged Rachel toward Castiel. She hesitantly moved next to the angel, her focus locked on Sam. It pained him to let her out of his sight, but it was best getting her to safety with Robbie's scent as strong as it was. Wasn't it?

Before Sam could change his mind, they were gone.


	40. Chapter 40

**Hi readers!**

 **I'd love some feedback! If you like what you're reading, leave me some love!**

 **xo**

* * *

 **TRIGGER WARNING: Non-con sex/rape discussed**

* * *

Rachel and Castiel zapped into the maps room of the bunker, Castiel gripping Rachel's arm and balancing her as they landed. He felt the tension flow through her. "It's alright," he said softly, releasing her. He watched her look around, wide-eyed. The bunker didn't seem to spark any memories, her expression one of confusion as she took in her surroundings. The rooms were darker than usual, quiet. It was late enough that most everyone was more than likely sleeping, except for Jack.

"Castiel!" Jack said with relief, looking at Rachel as he came in from the sitting area. "Where … Where is Sam?"

"Erasing his trail, apparently," Castiel replied; Rachel didn't miss the bitterness in his tone.

"Rachel." Jack smiled at her. It was innocent, warm. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Rachel studied him. He was so young. Was he Sam's brother? "Who are you?" she asked.

"This is Jack, a nephilim," Castiel replied.

As Jack stepped forward with eagerness, Rachel was slammed with another flash of light that blinded her, bringing her almost to her knees. A few moments later, Rachel's eyes flashed open. She panted as she looked at Jack, ice flooding her veins.

"Maybe I can heal her," Jack offered, approaching Rachel. "Being Lucifer's blood might help."

"No!" she screamed, nearly tripping over herself to move away from Jack. She backed into the library, heart racing as she grabbed a gun from the rack. "Don't you dare touch me!" she warned, aiming it at Castiel and Jack.

"Easy, Rachel," Castiel urged. "You need to calm down before you hurt yourself."

"I just want to help," Jack said, stepping closer.

"Don't come any closer," she warned Jack as she cocked the gun, who approached anyway.

"Rachel, Lucifer is my father, so I just want to see if I can—"

Dean, Bobby, and Mary rushed down the hall when they heard a gunshot, pausing when they saw Rachel holding a weapon on Jack, whose vessel was bloody, but otherwise unaffected.

"Rach?" Dean asked softly. He saw the frightened look in her eyes as she turned to him in surprise, regarding him with vacancy. Instantly, his heart broke for Sam. It was hard enough to deal with Rachel's memory loss as just her friend, let alone as her lover and father of her child. "Hey," he said, holding a cautionary hand up. "It's okay, sweetheart. My name is Dean. Did Sammy tell you about me?" He sighed when he saw her tiny nod. "Okay, good. Look … I know this is a crazy situation, but—"

"He's what Arioch wanted to make," Rachel spat as she glared at Jack, gritting her teeth together. "With innocent women. With me."

"I know," Dean whispered. "Arioch was a nasty son of a bitch." He paused. "What did you see?"

Rachel hesitated. "I didn't see so much as hear … He talked about making nephilims, that I was one of his chosen. But Arioch is dead, right?"

Dean nodded. "He's gone, Rach. And listen, Jack here … he's not bad, okay? He's a good kid. You've got nothing to worry about with him." He took a step forward, pausing when he saw her take another back, shifting her aim on him. Dean stared at the gun barrel, swallowing. "Okay, kiddo. Just take it easy, alright?"

"I … I don't know who the hell any of you are." Her tone was somewhere between confused and angry. "You could be setting me up." She cocked the gun.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy, sweetheart." Dean held his breath as he hesitantly crossed to her. "Look, I know Sam. He sent you ahead to protect you, even though he'd rather keep you with him at all times. Believe me, Gigantor really has it bad for you." He took a step closer, keeping an eye on the gun aimed at him. "You trusted Sam enough to go with him, right? So, trust him now—trust me when I say you're safe here." He held his breath as he stepped in front of Rachel, slowly taking the gun from her shaking hands. "Atta girl," he soothed, resting it on the desk and sliding it a little away. Dean squeezed Rachel's hand. "Alright. Breathe. You're fine."

Something about Dean called to her. Rachel studied him. "You like pie, don't you?" she blurted.

With a raised brow, Dean nodded. "Yeah, uh … I do." He watched in confusion as she stared at him. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Rachel held his gaze, her eyes rounding slowly after a few moments. "Dean," she whispered.

He heard the difference. She remembered him. He nodded, feeling his eyes water. He wanted Sam to be who she remembered first, but it was still a good sign. "Yeah, kiddo. It's me." Dean accepted Rachel's aggressive hug, unsure whether to smile or cry. "Shh," he whispered, hearing her shudder against him as he stroked her hair. "It's alright."

Rachel pulled away, looking at Dean. She was clearly still trying to piece things together. "Were we …?"

Dean was confused, but after a moment, he realized what she was asking. "Oh, no. No no no. Never. I mean, you're … well, you're …" He shrugged a little, clearing his throat. "No."

"Then why don't I remember Sam?"

"I don't know, but … You think it would help if you saw your stuff in his room?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

"Why don't we try, alright?"

"... Okay."

Dean gently led Rachel to Sam's room, urging Castiel and Jack to stay back. Bobby and Mary lingered with them, each watching intently as Dean guided her down the hall.

"Is that Sam's girlfriend?" Bobby asked quietly.

Mary swallowed, looking at Dean's back as he guided Rachel down the hall. "Yeah."

"Did she … shoot Jack?"

"Looks like."

Jack approached them, examining his bloodied shirt. "I don't understand. Why did she shoot me?"

Castiel sighed heavily, aching for Sam and Rachel. What Lucifer had done was beyond vicious. "Because her mind is skewed."

"I know that, but I thought—"

"No," Castiel interrupted, "I mean, it's _really_ skewed." He saw their confused looks. "When I healed her of her pain from the visions, I felt it—the emptiness, the voids. It's not a simple block that can be remedied with time. Her mental timeline has been severed."

"What are you saying, Cas?" Mary asked.

"I'm saying that she is only capable of fully reclaiming small portions of time, because there isn't much connective tissue left."

"So … her grapefruit's screwed up for good?" Bobby asked.

"Unfortunately."

"There has to be a way to fix her," Mary argued.

Castiel shook his head. "No. Without Lucifer's power to reverse it, some things will come back, but not necessarily in their natural context. If they don't, she'll have to depend on trust for that." He shut his eyes with realization, his face paling a little as his brows furrowed. "Oh no."

"What? What is it?"

"I know why she recognized Dean before Sam."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"Because he was good to her."

"I'm sure Sam was too," Mary scoffed.

"No, no, no. It's not that. It's …" Castiel sighed heavily. "Rachel was deceived by Arioch. He broke her, using Sam's face. I'm afraid that's why her connections to him are blocked."

"Because she buried the memories of it," Jack concluded with a sad look.

Castiel nodded. "Once it does come back to her … I'm not sure the context will be there. And if it's not, I don't know if she will recover."

The four were quiet for a long moment. "The only people who would know what we're dealing with are are you, Dean, and Sam," Mary concluded, looking to Castiel. "So, what are we looking at here? What kind of memories?"

Castiel looked to the direction Dean went with Rachel, remembering the fear she harbored of Sam after Arioch used his face to rape her. It had taken so long for her to heal, and that was when she knew the whole story. "Bad ones," he replied solemnly. "Very bad ones."

* * *

Sam woke up after a few hours of sleep, his hair rumpled and partially stuck to his face. Swiping it away, he looked at the time. _Five o'clock._ If they left by six, the could make it back to the bunker by the mid afternoon.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sam paused, inhaling deeply. Just a bit of Rachel's scent lingered in the pillowcase, enough to stir up a tidal wave of emotions. He groaned a little, remembering how it felt to hold her, to kiss her. Though it was nothing short of amazing, their undeniable connection was still missing. And it just wasn't complete without it.

After gathering Rachel's few items she left behind, Sam returned to his and Ketch's room, showering and packing his things in the car. Ketch proved hard to wake, even though Sam knew he was just as ready to be done with their trip as he was. "For God sake," Ketch grumbled as Sam stood next to his bed, "would it kill you to sleep for a bit?"

"I'd like to be on the road in an hour," Sam replied. When he saw Ketch wasn't moving very quickly, he rolled his eyes and headed for the door. "I'm getting some food. I'll be back," he mumbled before he left the room.

Outside, Sam took out his phone and called Dean, opening the door to the car and climbing into the driver's seat. "Shit, Sammy," Dean groaned on the other end, "would it kill you to sleep a little?"

Sighing, Sam stuck the key in the ignition. "How is she?"

"Who, Rach?"

"No, Mother Teresa."

Dean cleared his throat. Sam could hear the subtle nerves he tried to mask in his voice. "Fine. She's fine. Good. Sleeping."

Sam's jaw ticked. "Dean."

"She's good," Dean insisted, rubbing at his face as he sat up in his bed. "She's, uh, you know, a little overwhelmed, but, uh, she's … acclimating."

"'Overwhelmed?'"

"She's, uh, she's better now."

"As opposed to when?"

"Look, Rach is f—"

Sam's fingers tightened around his phone. "Dean, if you say 'fine,' I'll give your car a flat." He waited, listening through the silence. "Now, tell me how she is."

"She's sleeping," Dean insisted.

"What happened?"

"Sam—"

" _What happened?!"_

Dean sighed, rubbing his brow. "She remembered me," he admitted.

Sam was a little bitter he wasn't her first memory, but he was still confused by Dean's obvious anxiousness. "That's great! I mean … I'm a little … But that's a good thing, right?"

"It was. And then it wasn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well … it seems like she's only remembering fragments of time. And she happened to remember me from when I shot her cousin."

Sam paused. "She's afraid of you." The last thing he promised her was that she'd be safe with him.

"Sam," Dean said solemnly, "she remembered you too."

"From when?"

"Well, it's …" There was an undeniable pain in Dean's voice. "She remembered 'you' from her time with Arioch."

Sam's stomach dropped. His face paled. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. If she was afraid of him then, how much more did she despise him now? Tears welled in his eyes, his left arm leaning against the door, bent at the elbow as he rested his forehead on his hand. He gritted his teeth together, swallowing back the bile that raced up his throat. She thought he raped her. How would she ever believe otherwise?

"Say something, Sammy," Dean asked after a few long moments, his tone desperate.

"Where is she?" Sam asked in a pseudo voice of calm, barreling through his emotions as his hand shook around his phone.

"She's sleeping," Dean assured. "Cas had to, uh, you know … put her to sleep. But we set up something for her in the dungeon."

Sam's eyes shut, the tears leaking through despite it. "So, she's hysterical," he concluded.

"It's for her own safety."

"Yeah." Wiping away his tear with an angry swipe, Sam focused on the parking lot through the windshield, the warm dawn light flooding through it. "Listen, uh, we should be back by mid afternoon," he said, trying to stay together on the phone long enough to finish with Dean.

"Sam—" Dean tried, his voice gentle with empathy.

"Call me with any updates," Sam interrupted, keeping his tone stiff. He hung up before Dean could try to address the obvious, tossing his phone on the passenger's seat. "Fuck!" Sam growled, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch!" Arioch has used his face when he violated her, and the idea had never stopped making him ill. Despite his best efforts, without all her memories, he was likely nothing but scum to her. Rachel had been so weakened by the relentless torture Arioch put her through. Sam had never told her, but he sometimes saw glimpses of the residual fear in her eyes when he made love to her. She was beyond broken, beyond damaged. Arioch had not only physically torn her, but emotionally as well. When would her suffering end? When would he finally be able to give her the life he promised her? As Sam looked out at the early morning scene through his car window, he realized the answer: _Probably never_.

There was only one solution left to giving her peace. It would cost him his entire dream, but Sam needed to keep Rachel and Robbie safe, regardless. The thought alone made him ache unbearably, his stomach wrenching. The best choice would take her and his son away from him forever.

Before the tears could come again, he started the car and tore off down the highway with a lead foot, and an even heavier heart.


	41. Chapter 41

Ketch and Sam arrived back at the bunker in a near record six hours, thanks to Sam's speeding. Sam was silent the entire ride, not willing to tell Ketch about Rachel's regression. He didn't want to hear the inevitable, "I told you so" he knew Ketch would be dying to deliver. Thankfully, Ketch didn't seem to question Sam's silence or enthusiasm to get back to the bunker.

Sam entered the bunker first, Ketch following behind and passing him. Sam froze on the upper level. He gripped the railing, shutting his eyes, trying to draw in strength before descending down the stairs.

Castiel and Dean met him in the maps room. Each of them looked like they were afraid to wake the sleeping bear within Sam while walking on eggshells. "How is she?" Sam asked quietly when Ketch disappeared down the hall toward the second bedroom wing.

"She's awake," Dean replied.

"Any other memories?"

"Not that we can tell. She won't talk to me, she barely talks to Cas. She's terrified of Jack, and thinks Mom and Bobby are shady."

"Rowena?"

"On a road trip with Charlie."

Sam looked to Castiel. "How … How bad is she?" His voice quivered, and he gritted his molars to try to keep himself together.

Castiel sighed, looking at Sam with sadness. "There are many things that cannot be recovered. Without them, she has no context for what is there."

"So she thinks we're monsters," Sam concluded, looking away. Without Lucifer, there was no way to restore her. If she feared the brothers too much, she could hurt herself, and their son. Sam swallowed, staring at the cement wall across from him. There was only one safe option left. It would kill him, but it would keep her and Robbie safe, and keep them from the terrors of the darkness she was surrounded with. "I'm gonna try to talk to her," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "If it doesn't go well …" He looked back at Castiel, barely holding himself together. "If it ends bad, I need you to clean her slate fully."

"What?!" Dean asked, jaw dropping. "Sam, you can't—"

"Dean, right now, she's a danger to herself, and to Robbie. If the memories are gone, then there's very little chance she will come around. I need her and Robbie safe." Sam swallowed. "Even if it means I never see them again."

"Think about what you're saying," Dean pleaded. "You can't just take her memories away like that!"

"Isn't that exactly what you did with Lisa and Ben?" Sam countered stiffly, tears clouding his vision. Dean was silent. "Look, I'd rather die than lose her, but I'd rather lose her than see her and Robbie get hurt." He looked to Castiel. "Promise me you'll do it."

"Sam," Castiel said with anguish, "I can't … She's your—"

"You _need_ to," Sam insisted. "I just … I just want to talk to her one last time." The three were silent for a long moment. Castiel gave Sam a small nod. Sam straightened, setting his resolve. "Be ready."

"Ready for what?" Jack asked as he entered, gaining their attention as Sam headed for the dungeon. "Sam. I'm glad you're safe." He came to stand with the three, looking between them. "So, ready for what?"

"Nothing," Sam said, brushing it off with a forced smile.

Jack studied him for a prolonged moment. Then his eyes widened. "Sam, you can't—"

"I _have_ to, Jack," Sam argued, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "I _won't_ let her hurt herself, or Robbie."

"Please," Jack said, reaching up and resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Let me try something first."

Everyone looked at Jack with confused expressions. "Try what?" Dean asked.

Jack withdrew his hand and looked to Castiel. "You said you needed Lucifer's power to undo what he did. I'm his son." His focus shifted to Sam. "It might be enough. Let me try to heal her."

Images of Jack's well-intended tragedies entered Sam's mind. Jack was powerful, and he may have had a viable point, but he also knew the young nephilim wasn't stable. His powers weren't honed enough—he could kill Rachel and Robbie. "No," Sam said, terrified by the images he saw in his mind of Rachel dying. "Too risky."

"But Sam—"

"I said, _no_!" Sam yelled, nostrils flared.

Everyone remained silent as Sam paced away from them, running a hand through his hair. Jack watched him. "I know you're scared. But I can try to help. You might not have to lose her, or your son."

Sam's heart ached. The idea of Rachel being restored was enough to make him desperate. He had to remind himself of the risk. "Too risky."

"At least let me try," Jack said softly, approaching him. "You know I've gotten better. I won't put them in danger. If I can't heal her right away, I'll stop."

Tears slipped down Sam's cheeks as he stared at the floor. He wanted her back so badly. But what if Jack hurt her? Still, it was the most logical fix they had. Sam turned, examining Jack, his heart twisting. Wiping a hand over his face, he nodded. "Okay," he said, seeing Dean's relieved reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Sam led the charge to the dungeon, Dean behind him, with Castiel and Jack at the rear. Once they reached the far end of the hall, Sam could hear Rachel's frustrated growl, chains rattling. Sam's eyes rounded, and he glared back at Dean. "You chained her?!" he asked angrily.

"You want her to hurt Robbie?" Dean countered, eyeing Sam. "It was for both of their safety."

Shutting his eyes, Sam headed for the door, stopping the rest when he went to open it. "Wait here," he instructed. "Give me some time with her."

Dean watched as Sam slipped into the dungeon, drawing in a deep breath as the door shut. "Be ready, Cas," he murmured. He turned to Jack. "And stay sharp, Jack. You feel resistance from Robbie, you back off. Without understanding you're there to help, the kid is going to try to protect Rach. Don't risk them."

Jack nodded. "I won't."

Inside the dungeon, Sam's heart ached as he saw how Rachel looked at him. Her dark hair was spread wildly over her shoulders as she sat on the cot she was chained to. He could see her fear that immediately switched on at the sight of him, despite the shield of toughness she put up. Sam carefully approached, holding his hands up. "Rachel," he whispered, "I know … I know what you remember. But I swear to you, it wasn't me. It was Arioch."

Rachel laughed, the icy tone making Sam sick. "I'm pretty sure after four times, I'd know your face, asshole."

Sam's stomach lurched. She had never spoken about the details of her time with Arioch. "He used my face," Sam insisted, taking another small step closer. "Rachel, I'd _never_ hurt you. I'd rather die."

"Well, you will when I get out of here," Rachel replied with a hard stare.

"You trusted me," Sam reminded her, taking another step. He could see the vivid terror in her eyes as he got closer. "That trust wasn't misplaced. You _can_ trust me. I swear it to you, it wasn't me, and it never will be."

Sam swore he saw Rachel soften just a little before stiffening and giving him a dark look. "Trust you? You and your murderer brother? Why the fuck should I trust you? You've got me in chains. And I _know_ what I saw. You two are scumbags. I was an idiot to think otherwise."

Sam swallowed. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, a tear escaping his eyes. "I'm so sorry you went through what you did. I'd give _anything_ to take that from you."

"You're disgusting," she spat. "Everything other hunters say about you is true. They warned me you were a monster, but I never believed them."

"Rachel—"

Her voice rose, breaking. "You rape me, then try to act like a saint?"

"It _wasn't_ me."

"So now I'm the liar."

"No. I'm not saying that. I'm saying it _wasn't me_ , I swear it to you. I _love_ you."

The venom she regarded him with made him sick. "I can't wait to send you straight to hell, where you belong."

Covering his mouth briefly as he looked down at her, he quivered, praying Jack wouldn't hurt her. "Now," he called out so the others could hear him. He saw the panic in Rachel's eyes as the three approached. "We only want to help," Sam whispered, desperate for her to calm. Instead, she thrashed against the chains with a deafening scream. Sam took her right arm, holding her small body relatively steady.

"Don't touch me! I'll kill you!" Rachel screamed in his face as he braced against her fight. With regret, he held her hair as gently as he could while keeping her still and from biting him. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!"

"Now, Jack," Sam ordered, terrified Rachel's blood pressure was spiking too high. When he didn't see Jack move, he shifted his focus up to him. The young man was staring wide-eyed at Rachel, frozen in shock. "Jack, now!" Sam snapped, gaining Jack's attention.

Dean came to Rachel's left side, holding her arm down and helping Sam to steady her as Jack moved closer. Jack reached out and laid his hand on Rachel's head, wincing at her violent screams. Castiel watched closely, looking for any sign of Jack going too far.

A powerful surge of heat ran through Rachel's body as Jack's hand began to glow. Jack focused on his work, his brows knitting together. Rachel fell silent under his power, her lips parted as she stared blankly ahead. Sam watched as Rachel's skin began to pale, and Jack's hand began to quiver. "Jack," he barked in warning, panicking as he saw the quiver intensify. "Jack, stop!"

"I can heal her, Sam!" Jack insisted, a shake in his voice. "I just need more time!" He strained to keep his hand steady as a high-pitched ringing noise rose through the room, the energy he exerted nearly making his legs buckle. Sam and Dean winced and cowered down as the ringing pierced their ears.

"Stop!" Castiel ordered, seizing Jack's shoulders. Only, Castiel was thrown backward by the power Jack exuded, landing with a thud against the door.

"Dean, stop him!" Sam yelled, eyes wide in panic. He released Rachel and took hold of Jack with his brother. Both men flew backward in opposite directions, Sam crashing against a utility shelf and Dean against the far wall. They slumped to the ground, the shockwaves from Jack temporarily zapping out most of their physical abilities. After a few moments, Sam lifted his head weakly, his heart wrenching as he saw Rachel still under Jack's touch. " _Jack_!" he pleaded, his voice weak and strained. " _Stop_! You're going to kill her and my son!"

The ringing intensified, the sound crippling to Dean and Sam. A burst of blueish white light swept over the room, and the brothers ducked their heads as it stretched over them with a whoosh, disappearing as it hit the limits of the room. The ringing stopped, and Jack lifted his hand off of Rachel's head. Rachel immediately slumped onto the cot, her eyes shut, motionless as Jack stood above her.

Sam fought the raging ache in his body, half crawling to Rachel in desperation. He shoved Jack out of the way as he made it to the cot. "Fuck!" He sunk to his knees, drawing Rachel to himself and checking her pulse. It was weak, but she was alive. "Baby girl," he shuddered, straining to lift himself up and cradle her as he sat on the cot. Sam looked at Jack, his jaw ticking, nostrils flared. "If you hurt her, I swear to God—"

"She's okay," Jack insisted gently, hoping to ease Sam's fears. "She'll wake in a little while. She needs to sleep to regain her strength."

Castiel approached the cot, laying his fingers on Rachel's forehead. He nodded. "He did it," he said, a smile blooming on his lips. He looked between Sam and Dean, who shuffled toward the cot with a grimace. "He did it."

"You mean, she's … her again?" Dean asked.

"Everything is intact." Castiel was in obvious awe of Jack. "There is only a gap between a few days ago and now. It will be as if her initial memory loss never happened."

While everyone else seemed relieved, the promise sounded too good to be true for Sam. The other shoe would drop somewhere along the line. Nothing was ever easy for them.

Eventually, everyone but Sam left. He stayed, keeping Rachel pressed tightly in his embrace. He opted to stay in the dungeon just in case, still fearful of the inevitable bad that always lurked around the corner for them. Hours passed, and nothing came, though. She was steadily breathing, sleeping soundly. She looked peaceful, at ease.

Nearly three hours after Jack healed her, Sam felt a stir as he laid behind Rachel on the cot on his side. Eyes wide in anticipation, he watched Rachel, waiting for her to wake. The stir came again, and it felt almost painful. Yet, Rachel lay motionless, still asleep. Sam swallowed in dread, shutting his eyes. He had been so consumed by worrying about Rachel that he forgot about preventing the next big problem he had to face—his thirst for demon blood.


	42. Chapter 42

The pain grew, an ache building inside of Sam as he held Rachel. His senses lit up, the enticing aroma of his own son the cause for his increasing hunger. Only, like any other time before, the appetite was stronger than before his previous meal. And it would only keep growing more pressing with each feeding until he was nothing but a monster.

Sam fought the pain, clinging onto Rachel desperately as the starvation grew into a feverish war within. From behind, he pushed his nose against the skin of her neck, sighing headily as he drew in the alluring scent deep within her. "Fuck!" he growled as he regained himself, quickly abandoning the cot and pacing beside it as he looked down at Rachel. It would be so easy to just make a small nick, take a small drink—just enough to keep him from going off the deep end until he could figure out his next move. _You're fucking sick,_ he shamed himself, slamming his palm against the concrete wall as he groaned.

Minutes seemed like years as Sam contemplated whether to stay with Rachel or leave. He wanted to be there when she woke, to know she was okay, but the longer he was trapped with her, the more appetizing she became. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought the insatiable thirst. Desperate, Sam yelled out to Dean, tugging on his hair. "Dean!" He waited, listening. "Dean! Now!"

Sam heard Dean's boots against the floor as he approached, Dean's eyes wide as he busted into the dungeon. His brow wrinkled as he saw Rachel still sleeping, but Sam in distress. "Dean," Sam murmured, pain in his eyes, "I—"

Both men froze as they saw Rachel's eyes flutter open. "Rachel," Sam sighed, kneeling beside the cot and taking her hand.

Rachel looked at him in surprise. "Sammy," she said softly as she sat up. She brushed her fingers through his hair, watching him lean into her touch. "You're back."

Sam took a minute to figure out what she meant. "Yeah, baby girl," he said a few beats later, exhaling. It was her again. He cupped her face with a relieved smile, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. When he parted from her, he tucked her hair behind her ear, letting the strands glide across his skin. "We made it back."

She seemed anxious for an update. "Did you find your mom? And Jack?"

"We did. And a bunch of refugees."

Rachel smiled wide. "Thank God," she whispered in relief, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a hug. When he didn't hug her back, she pulled away, hurt. Her disappointment faded as she watched Sam. He wasn't really looking at her. Rather, it felt like he was looking through her, focusing on something intently. "What's wrong?" she asked gently. She blinked, looking around in confusion. "Wait, why are we in the dungeon?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked, gaining Rachel's attention.

"Um …" Rachel contemplated the question. "Lucifer was being super annoying with me and Rowena, so I told her to take a break. I sat down to watch him, and then …" She stopped, confused at the lack of her own memory. "Then I woke up. I don't remember ... Is he … is he dead? Did you …?"

Dean sighed heavily. Rachel didn't remember any of her memory loss experience that Lucifer gave her. "He's trapped in Apocalypse World," he replied.

"Why … Why don't I remember what happened between that?"

"Long story, kiddo."

Dean's response worried Rachel. Clearly something had happened, but she wasn't sure what. "Sammy, why are we down here?" she asked as Sam took her hand. "Was it full upstairs?"

"No," Sam admitted quietly. His fingers tightened around hers as a surge of hunger flowed through him. He screamed at himself to fight it, but the warmth of her skin was like a jolt of ecstasy in his current state.

Rachel winced. "Ow," she grumbled, trying to take her hand out of his. He clung to her, unwilling to let her go. "Sam, you're hurting me." Her eyes rounded as Sam stared at her, unrelenting as his breath quickened. She stood from the cot, tugging and trying to release herself from his hold as he stood with her. "Sam! Let go!"

"Let go, Sam!" Dean growled, ripping his brother's hand off of Rachel's. He saw Sam's angry reaction, recognizing the darkness in him with dread. "Oh no, Sammy," he murmured. "Come on, man. Fight this!" he ordered his brother, a grit to his voice. Sam's jaw tightened as he tried to intercept Rachel, nostrils flaring as Dean came to stand in front of her.

"Back off, Dean," Sam warned.

"Hell no."

"Dean," Rachel pleaded, feeling utterly confused, "what's going on?"

"Stay behind me," Dean said firmly.

"But—"

" _Stay behind me_."

Rachel's heart pounded as she saw how pissed Sam looked at his brother. "She's my girlfriend," Sam growled. "I wouldn't do anything."

"Look, I don't honestly know what you'd do right now," Dean admitted. "You're way juiced up. And I know you're coming down from that."

Sam scoffed, clearly offended. "Good to know you think so highly of me."

Dean wasn't backing down. "Yeah, well, your melon's a little whacked, so I don't give a shit if I piss you off, princess."

As Sam tried to move to Rachel, Dean blocked him again. Rachel took a step backward as Sam snarled in response, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Fuck off!"

Dean didn't seem too intimidated. "You need some alone time."

Sam's jaw ticked. "Don't do this."

"It's for your own good."

"Get out of my way. Now."

"Rachel, go," Dean instructed, his focus remaining on Sam.

Rachel was confused. "What's going on, Dean?"

" _Go_!" Dean barked as Sam took a step closer. "Get out of here!"

"You _don't_ tell her what to do," Sam growled.

"I do when you're like this." Dean reached behind himself and pushed Rachel back toward the door. "Go!"

Stomach sick, she looked at Sam for a moment, then quickly headed for the door, the heavy metal resounding behind her as it shut.

"You need to dry out," Dean said gently to Sam.

"I'm _fine."_ Sam glared at his brother, watching as he backed toward the exit. "Don't you leave me here."

"Just until you're detoxed." Dean felt the door handle hit his back; he grabbed hold of it behind himself, seeing the war in his brother's eyes.

"I said, I'm _fine_."

"You know I'm right, Sam."

With a quick twist, Dean left the dungeon and slammed the door shut, Sam pounding against it only a fraction of a second later. "Don't do this!" Sam shouted as Dean bolted it securely closed. "Dean! Let me out _now_!"

Dean sighed as he secured the final bolt, turning and finding a perplexed Rachel behind him. "Dean," she said firmly, "if you don't tell me what's going on right now, I'll …" She paused, swallowing. She hadn't thought that far. "Just tell me, dammit. Why did you lock Sam up?"

With a gentle hand to her upper back, Dean wordlessly guided Rachel into the hall near the exit to the main level. "Rachel!" Sam screamed from behind the thick dungeon door, causing her to freeze in her tracks. "Please, Rachel! Let me out! I need you!"

"Don't listen to him," Dean instructed her firmly, taking her arm and guiding her forward, her feet nearly weighted into the ground as she resisted him.

"Dean, he sounds like he's in pain!" she argued.

"Because he is," Dean countered flatly, seeing her surprised, worried reaction. He kept moving her, even though she tried to swat him off.

"Let go of me, dufus! I need to help him!"

"No, you don't."

Rachel continued to fight Dean's insisting guidance, Sam's protesting softened the further away they got. When they were a far enough distance, Dean turned her to face him. "Alright, stop," he said with a sigh, holding her steady.

"What is wrong with you?" she accused. "He needs help!"

"Just listen to me," Dean replied with an edge of impatience. It silenced Rachel's fight fairly quickly. "Sam hasn't told you his secret, right?"

Rachel felt a swarm of nervous butterflies launch in her stomach. "No."

Dean drew in a deep breath. He wasn't as gentle as his brother, nor was he really excited about dumping Sam's dirty laundry on his girlfriend. "You know about him and Azazel, right?" She nodded. "Okay. Well, Sam did something … pretty stupid." He paused with a shrug. "Put in his position, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

"You're not making any sense."

"Alright. You know Sammy has demon blood in him, right?"

"Right, and?"

"When you were dying after Asmodeus, Sam made a deal with Lucifer to heal you."

Rachel's eyes rounded, not expecting what he said. "Wait, what? No! Cas healed me."

"He couldn't, Rach," Dean admitted. "That's why Sam made the deal. Otherwise, you would've died."

Her brows wrinkled, heart pounding. "What deal?"

"Essentially, to be Lucifer's right hand man."

"What?! What the hell does that mean?"

Dean winced, hating how she was learning about Sam's secret. "It means Lucifer wanted to control him. So he required him to kill demons with his powers he got from Azazel. But his powers are only activated by consuming demon blood."

Rachel's stomach lurched. "... _Blood?_ "

"I know," Dean said with a soft nod. "The thing is, the demon blood becomes addictive for him. It's like a drug. If he doesn't get his fix, he goes postal. Lucifer knows this. It's how he planned to control him."

"Dean." Rachel ran her hand over her face. "Are you trying to tell me that Sam's been Twilighting off of demons for Lucifer?"

Dean paused, looking down at Rachel with an arched brow. "I never thought of it like that, but … uh … yeah. I guess."

Rachel felt like her head was going to explode from the weight and strangeness of Sam's secret. Then, it clicked, Dean's actions making frightening sense. Her lips parted in shock. "You think Sam would … because of Robbie?"

"I don't know," Dean replied softly. "I do know that if he were in his right frame of mind, he'd want you to be safe, and far away from him for now."

"So, how does this work?" Rachel glanced back toward the direction of the dungeon, hearing Sam's pounding and yells. "Does he dry out? Or … does he … does it ...?"

Dean rubbed her upper arm assuringly. "No. He's not going anywhere, Rach. He'll dry out. I'm not sure how long he's been on the tap, but I'm gonna guess a while. Probably ever since the hospital. It might take a few days, or a couple weeks. But he'll be back." He rested his hand on Rachel's shoulder with gentle firmness, gaining her attention; she flicked her eyes back to him. "You need to listen to me carefully. Under _no_ circumstances do you go near that dungeon."

"Dean—"

"I mean it, Rach," Dean insisted. "I don't care what you hear, you stay away from him. He's gonna beg, he's gonna plead. He's gonna use your love for him against you because you've got a little vat of demon blood cooking up in your womb."

Rachel eyed him. "He would never hurt me."

"Sammy wouldn't," Dean agreed. He pointed toward the dungeon. "But that man in there? That ain't Sammy. That's an addict with maybe one marble left. And I won't risk it."

The way that Dean regarded Sam sent a chill up Rachel's spine. It wasn't resentment or anger, but rather an experienced sadness that was painful to witness. "This is what you meant by his drinking problem, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately. So, promise me. Promise me you'll let me handle him, and you'll stay clear of him."

Rachel rubbed her temples. It was all too much. "Okay," she murmured. Her heart felt like it was twisted beyond what she could bear. "So, what can I do?"

Dean guided her to the stairs, stopping at the foot of them. "You can march your tiny self right on upstairs and relax. No cooking, no cleaning, no wash, no reorganizing. Bonbons, Lifetime movies, online shopping, and naps only."

Rachel stopped as Dean tried to urge her up the stairs, resisting his direction. "Oh hell no. I'm not sitting around while Sam is suffering."

"Look, sweetheart," Dean said gently, his voice lowering, "there isn't a single thing you can do for him, other than keep Robbie and yourself healthy and strong." He examined her. "Now, I'm telling you, you're banned from domestic shit indefinitely. You hear?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Is this because I washed your boxers?"

He wrinkled his nose. "No, but if you were that desperate to nest, then I'm doing you a favor." He walked her up the stairs, guiding her down the hall of the main level toward the library. "I mean it," Dean warned as they approached its entryway. "As your brother, you'd better listen to me, or there will be hell to pay."

Rachel paused, absorbing Dean's words. "'Your brother?'"

Dean's eyes widened a little, hoping to Chuck he didn't say "brother in law." He cleared his throat, fairly certain he was somewhat safe. "I, um, I mean. You know. You're basically like a sister, so … uh …" He stopped stammering when Rachel laid her hand on his forearm.

"You really think of me like that?"

"Of course I do, kiddo. You're family."

Tears brimming in her eyes from the ache of Sam's pain and the joy Dean just revealed, she threw her arms around him, giving him a hug. "Thank you," she whispered into his chest.

"Shh," Dean soothed, rubbing her upper back as he hugged her. "You don't need to thank me."

Rachel pulled away, glancing to the lit library, a muffled conversation gaining her attention briefly. She sighed, looking back at Dean. "Dean, how will he …"

"This isn't my first rodeo with Sam," Dean assured. "I've got it covered." Dean gave her a small pat on the back. "Get some rest."

Rachel's stomach knotted as she looked back at the library. She knew Mary had to be in there, which made her more nervous than she remembered being in a long time. She was very pregnant with Mary's son's illegitimate child, as well as apparently lost as to a few days of memories. Did she already meet Mary? If so, what happened? She swallowed, trying to drown her worries. It wasn't working in the slightest, though.


	43. Chapter 43

Reluctantly, Rachel moved toward the library, feeling nervous as she looked at the three people gathered at the table. Mary, Jack, and Bobby looked back at her, their conversation dying as soon as she walked in. Rachel swallowed hard, nerves flaring up within. Though she hadn't been introduced, she knew the beautiful blonde haired woman had to be Sam and Dean's mom.

Mary stood, a warmth on her face Rachel hadn't expected. And it almost felt like she was treading on eggshells around her or something. "Rachel," she murmured, smiling down at her. "How are you feeling?"

Instinctively, Rachel's hands went to her womb, feeling Robbie stir within. Her heart raced. She had wanted to be by Sam's side the first time she met his mom. "Okay, I guess," she replied meekly.

Mary shut her eyes, shaking her head with a laugh. It was nearly musical. "I'm sorry, I should reintroduce myself. It's been, well, it's been a bit of a crazy time. Anyway, I'm Mary Winchester."

"Nice to meet you," Rachel managed in a squeak of a voice, really wanting to cling to Sam. Meeting your boyfriend's mother while very pregnant with his child wasn't exactly awkward-free.

Mary didn't seem too fazed by her condition, though; she gestured back to Bobby. "This is Bobby Singer."

Rachel's brows furrowed. "Bobby is dead," she said bluntly, not realizing her lack of tact.

Bobby laughed softly. "Yours is," he replied. "But I'm not from your world, honey."

"And I'm Jack," Jack said with a bright smile. "We met, but I don't think you remember."

"Unfortunately not," Rachel murmured, swallowing down her nerves. "It's, um, nice to meet you all." Her courage waning, Rachel shifted her focus to the floor. Even though it was only three introductions, Rachel's brain felt like it was going to explode. Between her nerves and worries about Sam, she needed something familiar, and fast.

"You should sit," Bobby said, standing and ushering her to a chair. "That little one ain't so little on you, being so tiny."

Rachel sat reluctantly, her knee bouncing as she glanced at Mary. She didn't seem to harbor any ill feelings toward her, but she still couldn't help but be nervous. "So, you're eighteen weeks along," Mary said with a smile. Rachel nodded. "Well, I sure hope you've got support pillows. Carrying a Winchester boy isn't a cakewalk. Though, Sam was a small baby, despite what he is now."

"Maybe I'll get lucky, then," Rachel said softly, offering a smile.

Mary studied her. "You don't need to be afraid of me, you know," she assured gently. "I'm ecstatic for you and Sam."

"It just feels weird with him … being …" Looking down at her hands, Rachel fell quiet, nerves coursing through her.

"Being what?" Mary asked, seemingly unaware of Sam's condition.

Rachel felt her throat dry out. "Um … Well, he's uh …" She flicked her eyes toward the hall that led toward the dungeon. "I don't really know how to explain it."

Before Mary could ask, Castiel appeared next to Rachel, who jumped in fear. "Shit, Cas," she muttered. "Every damn time."

"Sorry," he replied, approaching her and examining her. "How are you feeling?"

"Not … Can we, um, talk for a minute?" Without waiting, Rachel pulled Castiel toward her and Sam's room, stopping a few feet in front of the door. "Cas, please," she begged, "please tell me Sam will be okay."

"He will be," Castiel assured. "He's a strong man. He will see this through."

"Why I don't remember what happened after I was with Lucifer?"

"Lucifer took away your memories of your time with Sam as punishment to him," Castiel replied gently. "Jack restored them, but it seems like he wasn't able to restore that portion."

Even Castiel's familiarity wasn't helping to make the swirl of Rachel's mind slow down. Castiel examined her, laying a hand on her arm. "You're far too worked up right now," he chided. "You need to keep your blood pressure down."

"Kinda hard when you wake up with no memories of a chunk of time, your boyfriend is some kind of blood sucking demon vamp, and you meet his mom for the first time alone while really pregnant with his kid."

Castiel nodded, staring at her with a blank look, feeling lost as to how to help. "Would you … uh … Would you like some warm milk?"

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "What? Ew, no. What I want is Sam to be Sam."

"He will be," Castiel repeated gently. "It will take time, but he will."

"How will we know he's … dry?"

"He'll be back to his usual self."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. But how do we _know_ , Cas?"

Castiel's brows wrinkled. "He will no longer want blood."

"And how will we know that?"

"Well, I suppose he will tell us."

Rachel nodded slowly. Somehow, it didn't feel like it would be that easy. "Right. Sure. Okay. I'm … going to, uh, shower." She left Castiel's side, slipping into hers and Sam's room, exhaling in relief as she pressed her back against the closed door. The bunker was fuller than normal, with people very important to Sam, and she felt like a stranger floating among them without Sam's endorsement. _Just relax, stupid. You don't need Sam to hold your hand._ Rachel sighed, resting her hands on her stomach as she moved to the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge. "Ugh, Robbie," she sighed sadly, "I hope Daddy will be okay." She paused, her lips parting as she felt a kick against her palm. "Oh my God," she whispered, smiling in disbelief as Robbie kicked again. "Hi, buddy," she whispered. She stood quickly, ready to go find Sam when she stopped, her heart dropping. Her joy was cut short; Sam would have to wait to feel their son kick.

With a heavy heart, Rachel gathered items for her shower, sighing as she looked at the door. She dumped them on the armchair in the corner of the room instead, and crawled into bed on Sam's side, too upset to do much of anything besides sleep.

* * *

Several hours later, Rachel woke, a rumbling in her stomach. She focused on the clock beside the bed: _Ten-thirty._ "Shit." She sat up, stretching as she tried to see in the darkened room. Standing, she flicked on a light and gathered her clothes she had discarded earlier, heading for the bathroom down the hall as quietly as she could.

It seemed as if everyone had gone to bed, the bunker silent other than a low murmur of music coming from what sounded like Dean's room. Rachel slipped into the bathroom, sighing in relief when she stepped under the hot shower spray. She was hoping to wash some of the insanity of the day off, or at least relax the tension in her muscles everything had caused.

Rachel smiled softly as she felt Robbie stir in her womb, scrubbing at her hair with shampoo. It was an incredible sensation, one she never thought she'd be so excited over. Having a family wasn't something she had set out to do at all, let alone so quickly. Still, having Sam's child felt right, safe. She knew Sam would be a great father, unlike her own. His current dilemma, though, made it difficult to see the positives. But he did what he did to protect her, she reminded herself. Sam would come through to the other side.

As she dried off, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach growled; she had completely slept through dinner. "Alright, buddy," she murmured when she felt Robbie kick. He must've been hungry too. Rachel finished dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, leaving her hair loose and exiting the bathroom after tidying up.

Quietly, she padded to the kitchen, relieved when no one seemed to be up. The lights cast a harsh glow in the room as she turned them on. Rachel squinted against the sudden brightness, sighing as she opened the utility fridge. She peered through the leftovers, grinning when she saw some pizza on a plate. Holding the plate, she perched on the counter and bit into a cold slice, chewing with a grateful hum in her throat as she absentmindedly swung her feet.

Being on the counter reminded her of the day after she told Sam she was pregnant. Sam had been terrified, she could tell, but he insisted on holding it together for her. He had resented Robbie for so long, thinking he was a nephilim, thinking he'd ultimately kill her. She knew he spent countless hours researching on her behalf, before they knew Robbie was human. Still, he couldn't find anything that would protect a nephilim host from dying during labor.

 _Nephilim._

The word struck a chord in Rachel's mind. She stopped eating, focusing on the floor as she tried to see why it seemed so critical. Jack was a nephilim. Arioch wanted more nephilim. But neither of those satisfied her brain. What else was there? Still, the word kept pounding into her, unrelenting. There was nothing else to remember regarding nephilim. Was there?

Abandoning her pizza, Rachel slid off the counter and headed for the library, consumed by the incessant thought. _Maybe it has to do with the chunk of time lost._ It was a long shot, but she knew she wasn't going back to sleep any time soon anyway. _It's worth a look._

In the library, Rachel located the books Sam consulted about nephilims, bringing them to the desk and sitting, examining their covers. She selected the biggest one to start, flipping it open to the table of contents. With a quick skim through, she jumped to the seventeenth chapter, entitled, "Traits Of Nephilims: Limitations, Grace Extraction and Restoration."

Blowing out a breath, Rachel read, none of it seeming to strike any bells. Though, what she did read was interesting. Apparently, the Men of Letters had a device that could extract an angel's grace, including a nephilim's. Restoration of a fallen angel or nephilim's grace was a bit more tricky, but still possible. It involved drawing and enacting a unique sigil with the blood of a prophet on the site of the nephilim's birthplace, or where the grace was lost. If there was grace to be found, it would be restored. Rachel traced over the geometric shapes of the sigil on the page in front of her, her brow wrinkling. _Why am I drawn to this?_ Was she looking for a way to restore a nephilim's grace? Who, other than Jack, did she even know was a nephilim? _And anyway, it's not like I took a case while the guys were gone._

Rachel's head shot up when she heard a strange grinding sound coming from the far hall. She focused on it, the noise almost rhythmic. Heater? Water tank? The noise came again, and she stood, unable to help her innate curiosity. She quietly stepped toward the hall, the sound growing stronger as she lingered in the entryway. The hall led two places—the archives, and the dungeon.

 _Sam._

Rachel's heart sped up as she listened to the grinding sound. What was he doing? She dared to move down into the darkened walkway a bit, Sam's noise growing louder as she got closer to the stairwell that ran down to the dungeon. Rachel jumped in fright when she heard a loud bang, then Sam's cursing. "Fuck!" Something went flying, hitting against something else and rattling to the ground. His intensity made her nervous, but also sad. It wasn't his fault the demon blood did what it did to him. And he only did it for her sake.

Swallowing as she listened, she heard Sam growl. Rachel neared the edge of the stairs, daring to descend a few to hear better. Sam was muttering and pacing like a wounded lion trapped in a cage. Would his thirst keep him up all night? Would he eventually be able to rest?

Robbie's hearty kick against her stomach made Rachel gasp in surprise, it scaring her after she had been so focused on Sam. The noises from the dungeon stopped, and Rachel immediately froze, a sense of dread lining her stomach. Had Sam heard her? She waited, her breaths as shallow as she could make them, not daring to move a muscle. If Sam knew she was there, he'd likely go hysterical. She had to wait until he started to move again to cover the sound of her leaving.

"Rachel," Sam sighed, her name a sensual groan on his lips. Her eyes widened, her pulse racing as she remained frozen. "Baby girl. I know you're there." She wet her lips, panic flowing through her. "Please. I just need to hear your voice."

He sounded so desperate, and so exhausted. Dean's stern warning rang through her head, and she remained still, her back pressed against the wall as she balanced herself between two stairs on the stairwell. "Please, sweetheart," Sam said, a soft thud landing on the door. His head? His hand? She wasn't sure. "I just need to hear you."

Rachel's heart broke for Sam. He seemed like he was aching, and just a small hello could heal him. Maybe enough for him to sleep. With a glance back up the top stairs toward the hall, she slipped down the stairwell toward the dungeon.


	44. Chapter 44

Rachel's palms grew clammy, guilt flowering within as she got closer to the thick, secured door. "Rachel," she heard Sam murmur with a sigh. "God, I miss you." She was too afraid to respond, still contemplating running back up the stairs and never looking back. "It's okay, baby girl," he urged. "Dean's wrong. I'd never hurt you."

"You're not well, Sam," Rachel finally whispered, stopping a few feet away from the entrance.

"I'm alright, I promise. He's just scared of me."

"Does he have reason to be?"

"No, and neither do you."

Rachel swallowed. "How did you know it was me?"

She could practically see Sam's smile. "I heard you."

"And that's all?"

Sam laughed. "I just knew it was you."

Rachel played with the hem of her tank top, her nerves kicking into high gear. She saw a tray sitting on a nearby table, the plate of food untouched, a glass of water still full. Had he refused them? "How are you feeling?" Sam's voice brought her back to the present.

"Fine," she murmured, glancing back at the stairs, praying Dean couldn't hear.

"Why are you scared?" Sam asked. She heard him near the door, likely leaning on it. There was a small, barred viewing window she could open from her side, but she remained frozen between the stairs and the door.

"I'm not scared."

"Then talk to me."

"I should go."

"Why?" Sam scoffed, clearly ticked. "Because Dean told you to?"

"Sam, you're … You need rest."

"What I need is for you to not treat me like a stranger."

"I'm-I'm not."

"You're not being yourself."

"How do you want me to be, Sam?" Rachel asked, aggravated. "I wake up with no memory of a few days, then you're some kind of demon blood vamp, and I meet your mom by myself while really pregnant with your kid. So, sorry I'm a little on edge."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I should be with you," he concluded.

Rachel sighed. "I wish you could be," she whispered.

"Then screw Dean and his fear. I'm _fine,_ baby girl. Just let me be with you. It's all I want. God, between the Apocalypse World, losing you, and this, I just want to hold you so bad."

"Losing me?" Rachel asked, brow raised as she took a step closer.

"Lucifer took your memories of all of our time together and sent you to New York while we were gone. Took days to track and find you, then more days for you to trust me. Then you started remembering and it went bad."

"Is that why I was in the dungeon?"

"To keep you safe. You and Robbie. But Jack restored you." He sighed. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too." Rachel wet her lips. "So, you've, uh, been drinking demon blood?"

She heard Sam exhale deeply. "Yeah. That's … what I wanted to tell you when I came back. I made a deal with Lucifer to save you. I couldn't lose you. And I couldn't lose Robbie."

"But now you're down here, going insane."

"I'm fine, I promise you."

"Sam, how can you be fine when you're coming off a powerful drug cold turkey?"

"This isn't the first time it's happened." Sam moved closer; Rachel heard him rest against the door. "Baby, please. Just let me out so I can hold you."

Rachel's pulse quickened. He sounded so sincere, but she couldn't help but hear Dean's stern warning against even interacting with him. Would Sam be that desperate to trick her? "Please," Sam groaned, his voice far more desperate. "I need you."

"Sam, I …" She swallowed, taking a step back. Despite his assurance, something felt incredibly off. "I can't."

The way he reacted made her stomach sink. "I don't believe you," he growled. "Siding with Dean? Really?"

"I'm not … I'm not siding with anyone."

The pacing lion came alive again behind the thick door; she could feel Sam's energy even through the steel. "Sure you are. You'll listen to his bullshit instead of me."

"I'm just doing what he asked."

"No you're not," Sam laughed coolly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be talking to me." Rachel jumped when Sam's hand smacked the door unexpectedly. "And since when do you bend over backward for anyone?"

Rachel took a few more steps back, her palms growing clammy. Dean was right—this man wasn't Sam. Not fully. "You should try to rest," she said softly, turning for the stairwell.

" _Rachel_!" Sam shouted angrily, his voice swinging between bitter and broken. "Don't leave me here, please!"

"Sam, I—"

"Let me out _now_!" Rachel jumped as Sam threw something against the wall, it rattling as it fell to the ground. "I can't do this, baby. I feel like I'm dying. Rachel, _please!_ "

Rachel turned quickly as she heard a heavy gait coming down the stairs. Her eyes rounded when she saw Dean, dressed in a white tee shirt and sweatpants. He narrowed his gaze at her, silently showing his disappointment as he took her hand with a gentle tug. He led her back toward the stairs through Sam's momentary pause. "Dean. Dean, I know it's you," Sam growled.

"Come on," Dean instructed Rachel, seeing her distress. He led her up the stairs, trying to ignore Sam's wild snarling and banging, but grimacing as he only got worse.

"You bastard. If you think you can take her from me, you've got hell coming for you."

"Dean," Rachel whispered, her heart feeling decimated. "He's so broken."

"Come on, sweetheart," Dean urged gently, trying to hold it together. "It'll be alright."

Sam resumed his pounding; Rachel wondered if his hands would be bloody and raw from how he punched the steel. "Son of a bitch! Let me out of here now!" His icy laugh made the hairs on Rachel's neck stand on end. "You're mine, Rachel. _Mine._ You hear me, Dean? She's _mine_!" She felt Dean's grip tighten over her hand, his guidance more insistent as she froze, terrified of Sam's hysteria. "Dean! _Dean, answer me! ..._ I swear to God, when I get out of here, you're done!"

Rachel looked back toward the dungeon, then to Dean, horrified. He seemed calm, as if he expected Sam's outburst, and even the accusation of Dean trying to steal her from Sam. Was this normal?

At the top of the stairs and in the hall, Dean paused, stopping Rachel as he gently laid his hands on her shoulders. He felt her shaking, his stomach wrenching for her. "Rachel," he sighed. "I told you not to talk to him. Now you see why."

Rachel's lip quivered, Sam's 180 degree shift too much for her to handle. "I'm sorry. I just … I thought …"

She half expected Dean to yell at her, but instead he just nodded. "I know. Believe me. I do. But it's _not_ Sam in there. No matter what you want to think, that man isn't our Sammy."

"What he said …"

"That's the lack of blood talking, not Sam. It's easier if you remember that." Dean patted her arm, guiding her down the hall toward the bedroom wings. "Get some rest," he urged. "And don't try to reason with him anymore, okay?"

"Okay." Still, she could barely suppress the tremble that ran through her. She desperately wanted to feel secure, but her normal source of security was what made her on edge. "Dean," she called out as he headed for the kitchen.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back to her.

"I …" Rachel pressed her lips together, too scared to ask. "Never mind."

Dean examined her. "You sure?"

She paused. It was far too strange to ask her boyfriend's brother to comfort her. Wasn't it? And with how Sam accused Dean of trying to steal her away ... "I don't know."

He stepped back toward her, his brow wrinkled. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I, uh …" She gulped, wringing her hands. "I just … uh …" She examined Dean's green eyes momentarily. "Nothing." Forcing a smile for a millisecond, she backed toward the bedroom wing hall. "G'night, Dean."

"'Night, Rach," he murmured, watching her quickly leave. Running his hand over his face, he grumbled, hating how freaked out she was. It was far too weird to comfort his brother's girlfriend with a purely platonic snuggle, though. Right?

Clearly she wasn't any more comfortable with the idea than he was, so he let it go, sighing as she disappeared from sight. Dean dug out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. It was painful to see her confused and hurt, without the ability to lean on Sam. Dean didn't care about her in that way, but still, holding her would be far too strange. It was a weirdly smudged, uncrossable line.

Dean knocked back a shot of whiskey, sighing as he rubbed his brows. He remembered the first time he witnessed Sam's descent from a detox. It was terrifying. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to witness as his lover. To learn your boyfriend was sucking down demon blood to keep you alive, then to see how it affected him after. It would be enough to freak anyone out.

His trained ear could pick up on the faint sound of Sam's protests. His denial and anger were always the first step. Soon, the next phase would kick in—the hallucinations. After that would come the part he knew Rachel would have the most trouble with—the pure agony of his thirst. Dean knew it'd be critical to keep tabs on Rachel during that. She'd likely put herself in the line of fire just to ease his pain. And he couldn't risk her or his nephew.

Downing a second shot, Dean sighed, feeling the residual ache of the day deep in his bones. He abandoned the bottle and glass, heading toward his room with a swallowed groan. He needed sleep, but it'd be hard to find with everything running through his mind.

As he passed by Sam's door, he paused, wincing. He wished he hadn't heard that. Still, he couldn't help it—Rachel's faint crying had caught his ear. "Dammit," he grumbled, running his hand over his hair as he looked around in the hall. Other than her, there was silence. It was late, what did he expect? Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Dean reached out for Sam's doorknob, his hand hovering over it. He withdrew it in fear, pacing a couple steps away. Before he could move further, he paused, his head hanging. "Son of a bitch."

Rachel jumped and sat up in bed as her door opened with a rough twist. She quickly swiped at her eyes, her heart racing as she saw Dean's silhouette in the doorway. "Dean," she said, swallowing back the croak in her voice from her crying. "You okay?"

"Look," Dean said, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "I, uh, I know … how … hard this has to be. And I know you're hurting." He swallowed, looking at his brother's girlfriend as she studied him. "I just can't deal with you crying."

Rachel looked down, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Oh. I'm … I'm sorry, I … I didn't mean to … I'll, uh, stop."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupted, taking a step forward. He laughed awkwardly. "That's not what I meant. I meant that …" He paused as she dared to look back up at him. "I just meant that I'm … offering … to …" He sighed. "Hell, I don't know what I'm offering, but you're breaking my heart, kid, so what do you need?"

Rachel wet her lips, surprised at Dean's question. She pinched at the blankets that laid over her. "A hug wouldn't hurt," she finally admitted, barely audible.

With a nod, Dean shut the door and came to her side of the bed, sitting on it. He gingerly took Rachel into his arms, trying to ignore the nerves and awkwardness it seemed to spark within. It was soon quelled as he felt her sink into his hold, his own body relaxing as he embraced her. "Shh," he soothed as she sniffled against him. "I promise you, Sammy will make it through this."

"Will I, though?" she asked.

"Of course you will. You're a tough cookie."

"I feel like a huge, blubbering wreck."

"That's the hormones talking." Dean patted her back. "Robbie's bound to be kicking your ass with it right now."

"I just …" Rachel hiccupped against Dean. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

"For this? Sweetheart, you've been through worse already. Believe me." Dean drew her a little tighter to himself, feeling her settle into his arms. "Before you know it, Sammy will be back to his mushy, annoyingly overprotective, gigantic brooding self."

She nodded, sighing. "Thanks, Dean."

"Don't mention it."

Dean continued to hold her, lost in thought as he stared at the wall across from him. Rachel really had become family to him, her heartbreak over Sam more painful than his own. He smiled softly as he recalled when they met her months ago, how Sam had immediately taken notice of her. Despite their difficulties over the last several months, she was the best thing that had happened to him. Even if he did make stupid decisions because of her.

A while later, when he felt her body relax against him, Dean dared to peek down at Rachel. He smiled softly when he saw she was sleeping. Then, his mouth twisted a little, realizing his dilemma. "Crap," he whispered, unsure how to transfer Rachel without waking her up. Slowly, he scooted toward the edge of the mattress, trying to gingerly separate her from himself. He laid her onto a pillow, holding his breath as he went to take the final move away from him.

"Stay," Rachel murmured, her eyes still shut as she clamped down on his arm.

Dean's eyes rounded. "Uh … Rach, I—"

"Just lay, dufus. We'll both sleep better, and you know it," she argued, her voice low and languid.

With a small shrug, Dean nodded. She was right. It felt strange, but she had a point. Neither would sleep well without the distraction of comforting the other. "I just want to go on record saying that I am only sleeping on top of the blankets," Dean stated.

Rachel wasn't fazed. Her face remained half buried against her pillow. "Whatever. Just lay down and shut up."

Dean obeyed, laying down with a sigh onto the bed. The new mattress Sam bought was far nicer than his own. He settled in, taking a look at Rachel next to him. She was back fully asleep, laying directly next to him, only her fingertips touching his bicep as she laid facing him on her side. In the soft glow of the nightlight, Dean examined her rounded stomach. He couldn't help but be awed at it, knowing what was in store for Sam. A normal life, a family. A child. Everything he never thought he'd get, but wanted so badly.

As beautiful as it was, it was also terrifying. The immense pressure to protect Rachel and Robbie spread over to Dean as well. Though they weren't "his," they were Sam's, and they were his family. Dean thought about the dangers Robbie would face, not only by being Winchester blood, but with his powers. He knew the what-ifs of it all kept Sam awake at night; he saw the nearly permanent darkened circles of stress under his eyes. Demon blood wasn't all to blame—Sam was fighting on multiple fronts, none bigger or more important than keeping Rachel and his son safe.

Though Dean knew Sam wouldn't willingly choose it, he couldn't help but wonder why he and Rachel hadn't gotten an abortion. Not that he would want them to, but with Sam being who he was, in constant worry, he didn't imagine his brother to want to fight for the child for the foreseeable future. His desire for a family must have been greater than his fears.

Still, raising a child in "the life" couldn't have been Sam's number one choice. But what other did he have? Especially with Robbie's gifts. The boy was bound to be absorbed into it all quickly—he already seemed to be flexing his powers from the womb. Yet, after all of Sam's fight to leave the life because of how he was raised, wasn't he worried he'd mirror their father's worst traits with his own son that close to it all?

With a deep sigh, Dean shut his eyes. The answer would have to wait until Sam was Sam again.


	45. Chapter 45

**Thanks for the reads and feedback!**

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* * *

Dean's eyes flashed open the next morning when he felt a small hand coast over his stomach. He looked down to his left, where Rachel had crept directly next to him, her head resting on his arm, still half asleep as she tried to cuddle with him. Dean wrinkled his nose and removed her hand with a careful touch, attempting to get off the bed before she took hold of his shirt. "Stay, Sammy," she murmured, her eyes still shut.

"Not Sammy," Dean reminded her, feeling panicked as he withdrew her hand from his shirt and tried to move away from her. "Nope," he muttered, pulling her hand away again. "Still not Sam."

Rachel grumbled, her eyes slowly opening. "Sam, what's—" She froze, her eyes rounding as she saw her hand reaching for Dean. "Oh shit." She quickly withdrew it, scrambling toward the opposite side of the bed. Immediately, she attacked her dark hair with her hands, smoothing it nervously and looking away to avoid Dean's gaze. "Sorry. I, uh …"

"Hey, look, it's cool," Dean replied, getting up and clearing his throat. He felt just as awkward as she did. "You, uh … you know, with Sam, and I … we … uh …" Dean nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna go."

Rachel watched as Dean left, blowing out a breath after her door shut behind him. She looked to Sam's alarm clock. It was seven in the morning. She didn't remember waking up at all in the middle of the night—did Dean at least get to rest too? His presence had been comforting. Too comforting, it seemed. She sighed. The person she wanted was locked in the dungeon, going through Chuck only knew, because of her. And Dean wouldn't let her get anywhere near him.

Robbie gave her a hearty kick, taking her from her thoughts. "Alright, buddy. I hear you." Rachel stood, yawning as she stretched and picked out clothes to change into. Dean was right—she had to take care of herself and hers and Sam's son. It was all she could do until Sam was finally free from his internal prison.

The next hurdle she needed to face came into view when Rachel saw Mary sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. "Good morning," she said politely, her smile successfully hiding her bountiful nerves at talking with Mary alone.

"'Morning," Mary replied with a kind smile.

Rachel wet her lips. "Look, about last night … I just, uh, wanted to apologize."

Mary's brow wrinkled. "For what?"

"For being … weird when I met you."

Rachel had imagined Mary to be some sort of cross between a sensible Disney princess and Xena, and she wasn't that far off. Mary's laugh was musical, but Rachel knew just how strong she was and what she could do to monsters from what Sam told her. "You woke with lost memories. That's hard enough. You're also carrying around a Winchester boy. Then with Sam? Believe me, you're just fine."

"So, you know about Sam?"

"I do."

It didn't seem like Mary was all that concerned. "Have you … seen him like this before?"

"No," Mary admitted. "But I know my son. He'll make it through." Her expression softened despite her resolve. "He will," she reassured. "If Sam is anything, it's stubborn. And Dean is loyal. He'll take care of him." She patted the table. "What you need to do right now is take care of yourself. Sit."

Rachel sat down slowly across from Mary's seat, but no sooner she did, Mary was up, pulling a mug down from the rack. "How do you like your coffee?" she asked over her shoulder to Rachel.

"Uh, just with cream," Rachel murmured, quickly adding, "but you don't have to—"

"Trust me," Mary interrupted, "I know I don't have to. I _want_ to." She gave Rachel a smile before resuming her task, fixing a cup for Rachel and placing it in front of her. "Good?" she asked.

Rachel nodded. It was perfect. "It's great, thank you."

Mary didn't reply, pulling down a frying pan from the top shelf. Rachel watched her, observing as Mary began to dig out ingredients from the fridge. "There's far more healthy things in here since you moved in," Mary teased, giving Rachel a smirk. "Maybe we can convince Dean to eat well after all."

"I think that would take a miracle," Rachel replied with a grin.

Mary nodded, setting items down on the counter, readying to make eggs. "So, how do you like your eggs? Is scrambled good?"

Rachel's lips parted. It was unexpected. She stood, taking a step toward the stove. "Oh, I can do that, Mrs. Winchester."

With a teasing smile, Mary turned around and eyes Rachel. "First of all," she said, pointing a wooden spoon at her, "sit." Rachel slowly sank back into her chair. "Secondly, it's Mary, or Mom, if you feel inclined. And third, I know you can. But you should let others take care of you once in a while. Especially now."

Watching Mary turn back around, Rachel barely held back the nervous tears that threatened to leak out. "So, scrambled?" Mary asked casually, unaware of her struggle. Rachel observed her in silence, trying to find a way to assure her that scrambled was fine. Still, words wouldn't come. When was the last time a maternal figure had been in her life, just wanting to care for her, without questioning her every move or doubting her without giving her a chance? It struck her hard, the coolness of her emotions flooding her veins as she tried to remain calm and normal. In truth, she didn't know whether she wanted Mary to hug her, or if she wanted to run away into her and Sam's room and not ever come out.

A few more moments passed before Mary glanced back at Rachel, pausing as she saw the blank, paled look on her face. Resting the uncracked egg she held down, she moved to Rachel. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Blinking hard, Rachel looked up at her. "I … uh … I just haven't …" Tried as she might, she couldn't stop the tears. She buried her face into her hands, sobbing.

Mary immediately dropped down into a squat at her level and embraced Rachel. "Oh, sweetie. Shhh," she soothed, stroking Rachel's back as she held her. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

With a sniff, Rachel pulled away and looked into Mary's eyes, finding nothing but kindness there. "I don't really have a family," she admitted, swallowing hard. "I just … I haven't had a home in ten years."

With a creased brow, Mary gently moved a piece of hair from Rachel's face. "Sam told me as much," she murmured. She paused, offering a soft smile. "But now you do."

Mary's acceptance seemed impossible. How could she treat her so tenderly when she didn't even know her? "You don't even know me," Rachel blurted. "How can you say that?"

"Because I know Sam loves you," Mary replied, unfazed. "I've never seen his eyes light up like I did when he talked about you and the baby. It's the look a mother waits to see all her life, to know her child has found love. And if you make him that happy, then how can I not be just as happy to have you?" She patted Rachel's shoulder. "I'd say we're the lucky ones."

Mary stood, resuming her tasks, leaving Rachel feeling stunned. Rachel tried to process Mary's kindness, but it felt foreign, unrealistic, and fake, even though she knew it wasn't. Mary really felt that way … about her. It was disarming. "So," Mary continued without looking at Rachel, "scrambled is good?"

"Yes," Rachel replied softly. "Th-Thank you." She watched in silence as Mary cooked, trying to convince herself that what she had said was genuine. Without Sam's assurance, Rachel felt lost.

Before she knew it, there was a plate of steaming hot eggs and two slices of bacon in front of her on the table. "If you want more, you'd better grab it now," Mary chuckled, showing her the plate of bacon before she sat it on the table.

"Yeah," Dean said, coming into the room. His hair was still damp from his shower. "Because if you snooze, you will definitely lose." He snagged a few pieces, biting into them with a sigh. "So good."

The rest of the day seemed to move into a blur of normal and not normal. Rachel's head spun as she tried to keep her sanity, but between Mary's unsettling, genuine acceptance, knowing Sam was trapped and alone, and everyone's nonchalant attitude about it, she felt like she was a bomb ready to explode.

* * *

Several days passed, Rachel keeping to herself for the most part as life seemed to move on around her. All she could think about was Sam. He was eerily quiet, no grinding noises from his escape attempts, no threats to Dean even after he delivered meals. Still, she would stroke her womb, feeling hers and Sam's restless son stir within at just the thought of his father.

Rachel had dared once to stand on the stairs that led to Sam's prison, listening for any signs of life. When nothing came, it hurt more than when she heard him go hysterical. Existing without knowing, without seeing his progress for herself was nearly impossible. All she had to hold on to was Dean's brief assurances of Sam's progress, and her hope that they were true.

A week later, Rachel couldn't do it anymore. She stayed in her room, shutting out the world around her. She couldn't deal with another morning of chipper Mary, sarcastic Dean, friendly Jack, concerned Castiel, and weathered Bobby. Her missing breakfast must've caused a stir, because she heard Dean's booted gait outside of her door, then the pause of his listening. Despite her hunger, she couldn't face them. She couldn't pretend for yet another day that her lover wasn't underneath them, practically dying. She couldn't fake any more smiles, or answer any more questions about Robbie. She needed Sam to be okay. That was all that she had energy for.

Hours passed from when Dean spied on her when Castiel flashed into the room, not failing to scare the daylights out of her. "Shit!" she gasped, her heart racing.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, carefully approaching the bed with a plate with a sandwich and a glass of water in hand. He set it on the nightstand next to her as Rachel remained seated. "Dean was worried. He wanted me to check on you while he was out making housing arrangements for the refugees."

"I just …" Rachel adjusted the blanket over her lap. "It's so much to process. Sam, Mary, a family … Robbie …"

Castiel nodded. "I'm sure it is." He tilted his head to the sandwich. "You need to eat. It's not good for you to skip meals."

With a deep sigh, Rachel took up the sandwich and bit into it, Robbie kicking a few moments later after she swallowed her first bite. She looked into Castiel's eyes as she continued to eat. "Have you seen him? Sam, I mean. How … How is he?"

"He's … fighting it." Castiel forced a smile.

Rachel wasn't fooled. "How is he doing, Cas?"

"Well," Castiel began, sighing, "he … he must have been ingesting a lot of blood."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, finishing off the sandwich and sipping the water.

"Because … he's worse than we've ever seen him."

Rachel's heart stopped. She set the half emptied glass down on the tray with a shaky hand. "What? You _just_ said he was fine!"

"He will be."

"But what about now?"

"It's complicated. His hallucinations are quite bad. But he will find himself again."

"Are you guaranteeing that?"

Castiel gulped. "Dean is hopeful that—"

"'Hopeful?' That what? That he won't die?!" Rachel got off the bed, her hands on her hips as she eyed Castiel. " _What_ is going on with Sam?" she demanded.

"Just his thirst," Castiel insisted. "It's likely stronger than it's ever been. His body should be able to hold, but—"

"'Should?'" Her mouth hung open. "That's it, I'm going to see him."

"Rachel—"

"It's been a week, Cas. Sam should be well by now, regardless of what drug he's coming down from. I _need_ to see him."

"You can't!" Castiel insisted, partially blocking her path.

"Watch me," she growled, storming around him toward the door and out of the room. As it slammed behind her, Castiel sighed.

"Oh no."


	46. Chapter 46

Sheer will took Rachel down to the dungeon at an impressive speed. It was eerily quiet as she approached the door, listening for any signs of life from within. "Sammy?" she asked gently, coming to stand in front of the thick steel. Her hand laid on top of the deadbolt and locking mechanism with a pause.

When she didn't receive a response, she gripped the deadbolt and thrust it open, the grinding of steel on steel echoing in the space. The door was heavier than she expected, but she managed to open it, her jaw dropping when she saw Sam's condition. His large, lanky frame was draped on a cot that seemed barely long enough to accommodate him. Streams of sweat gathered around his hairline and brow, his tee shirt damp in the front and near his armpits. Even his growing beard was victim to it. His skin didn't look as vibrant as usual, and his eyes were shut, his leather bound wrists hanging limply at his sides. There was a particular stench in the air, one that came from Sam's desperate need to take a shower. Still, it didn't matter to her in that moment. Only his mind did.

Rachel approached him, her heart both sinking and racing as she got closer to him. He seemed too still to be sleeping. Was he unconscious? She knelt beside the cot and gently stroked away his wet strands of hair from his closed eyes. "Sammy," she whispered, not sure if she actually wanted to wake him. He needed sleep, but she needed to know if he was okay. Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel rested her cheek over his chest, the steady beat of his heart comforting her. Her fingers found his tee shirt and ran over it, curling inward and gripping it as she clung to him.

Sam bolted upward as far as his bindings would allow him to, and Rachel jumped back with a gasp. His eyes immediately fixed on her, rounding at first, then narrowing. He scoffed, as if he was well-versed in discerning his current environment. "You're not real," he muttered, his jaw tightening in bitterness as he calmed his panting.

"I am," Rachel said gently, keeping her distance as she watched him shake his head, his body flopping back onto the cot.

"Sure. Just like last time, and the time before that."

The idea of Sam hallucinating her made Rachel's stomach sink. "I'm me, Sam. I swear it."

"No, you're not. You're the three-hundredth 'Rachel' I've seen today. I know better. Dean would never let you get close enough." Sam laughed softly. "Hell, I don't blame him."

"But I am. You felt me."

Sam smiled. "I feel you all the time," he replied softly, sadly. He looked at her, his fingers flexing as his wrists hung at his sides. "So, what do you want this time, huh? Want to tell me _again_ how I ruined your life? How I've done nothing but put you in danger? Because I know that." He refocused on the ceiling. "But I guess that's your purpose, right? To drill in how selfish I've been with your life. To show me just how targeted you and Robbie are because of me."

Rachel stepped closer. "Sam—"

"I get it. I mean, yeah. I get it. What do you want me to say that I hadn't already? I've said it all. I'm sorry? It's all my fault? I'll leave? I'll let you leave?"

"Shut up, dufus," Rachel interrupted, laying her finger over his lips as she knelt beside the cot. She watched his jaw tick, his eyes more than focused on her. "Just … shut up and listen. I'm real. It's me. And all those times before? It wasn't me. So whatever you heard, I didn't say it. I'm here now, for real. And you can trust me."

Sam studied her as she withdrew her finger; Rachel saw the gears whirling in his head. "Baby girl?" he dared to ask after a long moment.

"Yeah, Sammy," Rachel whispered. "It's me."

Tears rolled down Sam's cheeks as he fought the bindings to reach to touch her cheek. He failed, settling for her hand. His grip was painfully tight. "You're … you're here."

Rachel's own tears streamed down her face at his apparent pain. "Yeah, I am." With her free hand, she stroked his face, watching him lean into her touch. "I'm so sorry you're hurting."

"It doesn't matter. I just needed to see you." He swallowed. "To apologize to you. To tell you how sorry I am."

Her brow wrinkled. "Apologize for what?"

"For everything. For pursuing you, for getting you pregnant, for Arioch, for Vance, Lucifer … all of it."

"We've been over this before. It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't gone after you, you'd still be safe."

"Or, I could be dead, because Arioch could've gotten me," she countered.

"Rachel—"

"None of that is your fault, Sam. I made choices too. I wanted you too. I slept with you. I left, leaving myself open to Vance. And Lucifer is the freakin' devil, so I'd say he's fully to blame for anything he does."

Sam suppressed a moan as Rachel moved her fingers over his face. "God, I love you."

Rachel smiled. "And I love you." She paused. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I keep getting hit by an eighteen wheeler every few minutes," he admitted, his voice a bit hoarse. "How'd you get past Dean?" Sam's fingers stretched over her hand; he wanted so badly to tuck the strands of hair near her eyes behind her ears.

"He's out," Rachel replied, not really wanting to talk about Dean. She knew Castiel had probably already leaked the info, and could only imagine Dean's reaction.

She studied Sam's mouth, briefly wetting her lips as she gripped the metal cot frame for stability through her squat. As she pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet to reach for a kiss, she winced, yanking her hand back. "Ow," she muttered, eyeing her left hand. Bright red blood leaked from her palm from the sizable slice the sharp edge of one part of the frame left behind.

"What's—" Sam paused, his nostrils widening ever so slightly. He could smell it in the air; her blood was the most incredible fragrance he ever experienced. The obvious influence of demon was there, but it was laced with something else that made it especially unique. Immediately, his stomach groaned, his gut tightening as his eyes shut. "Fuck," he shuddered.

Unaware of Sam's struggle, Rachel looked around for something to wipe her palm with when Sam's feral growl shocked her out of her thoughts. She looked at him, wincing as he gripped the wrist of her injured hand tightly. "Oh God," she whispered, connecting the dots quickly as she saw the pain on his face. Rachel tried to twist her wrist free, failing as Sam's hold seemed to grow tighter. "Sam," she begged, "fight it. Please."

"I'm trying," Sam nearly yelled, his hand quivering as he attempted to loosen his fingers on her. "You need to leave. I'm not … I want you here, but I …" Sam groaned as her blood streamed onto his skin. "Shit." He squeezed his eyes shut, sitting up as far as he could while lifting her wrist against his bonds. It was close enough that he could bend forward and taste it. He hesitated, his mouth lingering dangerously close to her gash. Rachel feverishly tried to break out of his grip to no avail.

"Rach!" Dean shouted as he busted into the dungeon, huffing toward her. With a few rough tugs, he separated her from Sam, seeing the blood on her palm. He turned to Sam, pressing Rachel away from the cot. "Did you drink it?" he snapped at his brother.

"No," Sam growled. His eyes were fixed on Rachel. "Get her out of here, Dean," he begged. "Please. I need her safe."

"Go," Dean ordered Rachel, who only backed away a couple steps. "And don't touch it," he said to Sam before going across the room for a rag. Sam didn't move, silent tears wetting his cheeks as his body shook with his battered resistance. He kept his focus on Rachel, who watched as Dean soaked a worn piece of flannel in water, then wiped the blood from Sam's hand. When he was finished, Dean looked at Sam with a heavy sigh. "Why, Sam?" he asked. "Why'd you lure her down here?"

"He didn't," Rachel snapped before Sam could speak. "I came down myself."

"Baby—" Sam began, still trying to calm himself though he smelled her blood in the air.

"No," she interrupted. "You need help, Sam. This is ridiculous. Cas said the drying out never took this long." She eyed Dean. "You can't just keep him locked up and hope it works. He needs better than that."

"What would you like me to do, Rach?" Dean asked, throwing his arms up. "Look, short of Lucifer or an archangel zapping it out of him, there's nothing more I can do."

"What about Jack?"

"Tried it. Didn't work."

"Cas?"

"Same. Not enough power. Or not the right power. Who the hell knows."

The three remained silent, Rachel swallowing as blood ran down her wrist. A quick glance at Sam proved that his thirst was very much still alive. "What if …" She stopped, seeing Dean's brow crease. "What if he didn't stop drinking right away?"

"Hell no," Dean growled.

"Just hear me out," Rachel argued. "What if we weaned him off? It might be easier."

"And keep you in bed next to him? I don't think so."

"We can't just leave him here for God knows how long!" Rachel's voice was pained. "He needs a shower. He needs rest. He needs to be Sam again."

"And I'm trying to get him there," Dean replied. "Look, this is how it is for him. And there's nothing I haven't tried. He's got to get it out of his system by detoxing. Period."

"He's in pain!" Rachel insisted. "This isn't right!"

Dean eyed her. "Unless you've got some kind of angel grace up your sleeve, we're fresh out of juice to try, so we're stuck with this method."

Rachel's stomach felt sick as she looked at Sam. "He's right," Sam managed, his jaw ticking as he clenched his molars together. The scent of her blood made him feel ravenous. "It's the only way." Sam wet his lips. "Just go, baby. It'll be alright."

With tears in her eyes, Rachel spun on her heel and stormed out of the dungeon, her angry steps echoing behind her as she ascended the stairs.

Dean returned his focus onto Sam. "She's right, you know," he said softly, his heart aching for his brother. "It's never been this bad."

"It was top shelf stuff I was on," Sam admitted, resting his head on the cot. He drew in a shaky breath. "Dean," he whispered, "if I don't make it through this—"

"No," Dean interrupted. "Don't even finish that sentence."

"Please, Dean," Sam pleaded. Dean saw the pain in his eyes. "I need to know my son and Rachel are taken care of."

"Stop it. You'll be fine."

Sam shook his head. "Promise me," he insisted. "Promise me you'll protect them."

"Sam—"

"Promise me."

Dean drew in a sharp breath. He was more scared than he let on. It was difficult trying to remain calm for Rachel and Sam, when all he kept thinking was how right Sam might be. "I promise," Dean replied softly, moving his gaze from the floor to his brother's eyes.

"Thanks," Sam managed, shifting his focus onto the ceiling. He felt a wave of relief wash over him as the last bit of Rachel's blood scent left the room. "Dean, her blood …" He paused, drawing in a deep breath. "Her blood was different."

"Of course it was. She's carrying your son."

"No, that's not it. I smelled that, but there was something else. It was faint, though. But it was there."

Dean shifted toward him. "What did it smell like?"

"Like … It's hard to describe. Mint, maybe."

"Mint?"

"Yeah."

"Like Colgate from toothpaste?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not toothpaste. It was in the blood. I've smelled it before, but it doesn't make any sense."

"The scent doesn't?"

"No, why she would have it."

"Okay, so where'd you smell it before?"

Dean watched as Sam swallowed hard. "Remember when we were trying to gank Famine? How it ticked on my thirst?" Sam saw Dean nod. "When we were in the restaurant, I smelled it. I thought maybe it was my state of mind. But it wasn't. Not when I kept smelling it after that. Long after that."

"What are you trying to say, Sam?" Dean asked, brow creased.

Sam's jaw flexed as he focused on the ceiling. "Angel blood," he concluded softly. "It's got to be, because every time I've smelled it, Cas or another angel was around. And bleeding. Even if a little bit. There was a difference in their blood scent." With a pause, he looked over at his brother. "Dean, I smelled it in her. I know I did."

Dean's eyes rounded ever so slightly as he examined Sam. "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Never been more sure in my life."

With a swipe of his hand over his face, Dean paced away from the cot. "It can't be," he argued. "Cas would've known when he's healed her."

"Why would he?"

"Because ... angel. And if she was an angel, she'd see demon faces."

"Maybe not, if she's fallen. Or missing her grace."

Dean turned, looking back at Sam. "You think she's …?"

"It explains Robbie's power over Cas," Sam reasoned. He swallowed hard, pausing. "Can you imagine what ability that would give him? Robbie would be some sort of Angel/Demon hybrid nephilim."

Dean paled a little at the thought. "Does … Does that even exist?"

"I have no idea," Sam admitted. "I know we've never encountered it."

"Son of a bitch."

Sam's heart raced at the idea of Rachel having angel lineage. "It makes sense for Rachel, though. Look at Anna—she had a connection to angel radio without her grace, and Rachel has the visions. Maybe they're not only powered by Robbie. Maybe there's angel radio waves in her head too."

"It would explain why Arioch was obsessed with her."

"It would also explain why she was dumped by her birth parents. Since nephilims are a big no-no."

Lost in thought, Dean moved in a crooked line beside the cot, back and forth as he thought. "Holy shit." He paused. "If Robbie's half of each of you …" He looked down at Sam, who seemed pained over the idea. "Sam, your son will be …"

"As powerful as Jack," Sam concluded quietly.

"Hell, maybe more." Dean drew in a deep breath. "Alright, but Cas said Robbie was human. So before we rush off thinking Rach is a graceless angel, what other explanations are there?"

The brothers were silent. There were none. "Dean," Sam began, an obvious pain to his voice, "if Robbie's technically like a nephilim, what if she doesn't survive labor?"

"Cas said—"

"No offense to Cas," Sam interrupted, "but if I'm right about this, then he's also wrong about her safety."

Dean ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "Alright, listen: Let's take one thing at a time. You need to get better. In the meantime, I'll do some research on angel and demon hybrids."

"Fine. But whatever you do, don't tell her, or anyone else," Sam warned, catching his brother's disappointed reaction.

"Sam, not again," Dean sighed.

"Just … let me get over this," Sam pleaded. "She doesn't need yet another issue relating back to me. Not right now. Let me be there for her when we tell her."

Dean nodded softly. "Okay. I'll see what I can find."

As Dean began to leave, Sam called out to him. "Dean, please keep her from me. And see that she rests."

With a gentle nod, Dean left, closing the thick steel door shut. Sam shut his eyes, tears leaking out from the corners. "Please let me be wrong," he whispered to the air, his fingers flexing by his sides as he remembered her scent.

Only, he knew deep within that he was far from it.


	47. Chapter 47

By the time Dean ascended from the dungeon, Castiel had already healed Rachel's palm. She was in the kitchen, scrubbing the blood from her skin, her back to Dean as he cautiously entered. He couldn't help but see her through the new lens Sam put her under, wondering if she was, in fact, an angel. "You okay?" he asked softly, jamming his hands in his pockets.

Rachel nodded, slowly rinsing her hands under the stream of water from the faucet. She kept her back to him. "As good as I can be."

Dean's heart raced as he tried to stop thinking about Rachel in the context of being a supernatural being. One he happened to loathe. "Sam is … he's really sorry."

"It's not his fault," Rachel replied, shutting off the water and reaching for a towel. She slowly dried her hands, still avoiding Dean's eyes. "Dean," she said softly, "how … how will he get through this?" She turned and looked at him, searching his eyes.

"You," Dean answered with a soft smile, seeing her confusion as he stepped closer. "That big lug is insane about you. Nothing's gonna keep him from you. Believe me, he'll fight Hell itself if that's what it takes." He glanced down at her stomach. "He'd do anything for both of you."

Rachel's eyes watered, but she held back the tears. "What can I do for him?"

"Stay away from him," Dean replied, an edge of sternness to his voice. "I mean it. You need to keep your distance until he's dry."

"I … I can't just sit here and …"

"Sweetheart, that's exactly what you need to do right now. You need to rest, to take care of you and Little Man. Believe me, what you're currently doing—" He gestured to her entire self. "—is harder than anything we've ever done."

Rachel scoffed. "You both stopped an apocalypse. And Leviathans. And Lucifer."

"Yeah, but we weren't lugging around a starved, growing ball of hormones that was sucking us dry like a parasite. You've got a whole person in there. Rest. Sammy is begging you to."

Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel slowly nodded. "Okay." She glanced at her hands. "Sam and I ...we, uh, needed to talk about a nursery. But with him … like this ..."

Dean cleared his throat. "Right. Uh. So, you need a room."

Rachel winced. "We were hoping for your mom's."

"It's the closest to yours. Makes sense."

"Yeah. Only, I feel incredibly awkward asking."

Silence lingered between them. "Oh," Dean said with realization a few moments later. "You want me to."

"I mean," Rachel shrugged awkwardly, shying away from him, "I just … I don't know how long Sam will be … and we need to order furniture ..." She flashed a nervous smile, switching gears without warning. "You know what? I'll just wait for him. I'm sure he, uh, won't be … too long."

Before Dean could speak, Rachel was gone. Not talking to his mother about Sam's child was perfectly fine with him, considering what he now had to try to figure out about Robbie, and about Rachel. With a sigh, he retreated to the library where Castiel was. "How did she hurt herself?" Castiel asked him when he came in.

"I'm guessing on the cot," Dean murmured. He swallowed, his nerves flaring. "Hey, uh, Cas? How would you, uh, know if … Do angels … Uh …" He stopped, seeing Castiel's confused, focused look. "Does Jack's blood smell different than others?" he blurted, clearing his throat after.

"Smell … different?" Castiel asked, brows furrowing.

"Yeah. I mean, 'cause he's part angel but also part human, so would his blood … be different to the senses?"

Castiel nodded slowly. "I suppose it would be, for those who can discern the subtleties."

"So, other angels."

"Or demons."

"Right." Dean nodded slowly, his head ready to explode. "Awesome. Thanks."

As he began to walk away, Castiel stopped him by calling out to him. "Dean, are you alright?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, man. I'm fine." He flashed a brief smile at Castiel, moving toward the hall. I'm gonna get some shut eye. G'night, Cas."

Before Castiel could ask the wrong question that would break Dean's resistance, Dean left for his room. Clicking the door shut behind himself, he sat on the edge of his bed. Rachel appeared to not know about her potential lineage. If she was, in fact, part or whole angel, her and Sam's son was a ticking time bomb. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled. Rachel and Sam had already been through so much. They didn't deserve yet another curveball. It was a Winchester curse, though, and Rachel was practically one at this point.

Dean ran his hand over his hair, letting his arm flop by his side. He had to find out everything he could about Rachel, and fast. And she couldn't know he was looking. Not until Sam was better.

* * *

The remainder of the week crept by, Rachel keeping mostly to herself. Dean sunk himself into research, but found very little about angels and demons creating offspring. Why would he find anything? After all, the two sides despised each other. It wasn't as if them breeding was something to be expected.

Sam's recovery was slow, but Dean was hopeful when he saw gradual progression. It had never taken as long as it was now for Sam to dry off, but Dean remained patient, comforted by the anticipation of his brother's recovery.

Late at night, Dean slammed closed the thick book he was reading in the archives, angry at yet another dead end. Sam was far more skilled in research than he was, but he wasn't sure if that would even make a difference. The topic of angels and demons procreating was just unheard of. Castiel had attempted to get info out of Dean to explain his sudden interest in reading. But Dean remained quiet, praying Castiel wouldn't read his mind.

As he rubbed his brows, Dean heard Sam's voice from the other end of the floor. "Dean. I'm … I'm good, I think."

Standing, Dean left the book he had been reading, exiting the archives toward the dungeon. "Talk to me, Sammy," he said as he approached the door.

"I'm … I'm starving. For food. A burger, actually," Sam admitted with a soft laugh.

"All your marbles back in the bag?"

"I think so. I mean, I'm not thirsty anymore."

Sliding open the deadbolt, Dean opened the thick steel bifold door. The entire dungeon reeked, as did Sam, who desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. Dean coughed as he moved to his brother and unlocked Sam's bindings, watching as he sat up with a groan. "Burn those clothes," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"That bad?" Sam asked, brow raised.

"Dude. You smell like a hot locker room full of dead bodies."

Sam sighed and stood. "How is she?" he asked, more than anticipating Dean's answer.

"She's been better," Dean replied. "She hasn't been around much this week. Comes out to eat and shower, then goes back into your room. I've had Cas peek in on her a few times to make sure she was okay. She's just torn up about you."

"Shit." Sam ran his hand over his thick stubble, his beard more than pronounced from growth over two weeks. "Find out anything?"

"Nada. Other than you and Rach are probably the only angel chick and demon-blooded dude to ever do the Horizontal Tango."

Sam rubbed at his eyes, temporarily forgetting his watch on his wrist; the circles under them were much darker than they had been before. "It's late, huh?"

"Nearly midnight."

"I'm going to eat and shower. Then I'll go see her."

"There's pizza in the fridge."

Sam headed out of the dungeon and up the stairs, quietly making his way to the kitchen. He scarfed down two slices of cold pizza before heading toward the hall and the shower. As he passed by his room, he drew in a deep breath, fighting his urge to see Rachel immediately. He could feel her presence, relieved when the thirst didn't follow.

In the shower, he soaked his body under the hot spray, achy from two weeks on a cot. It took him nearly forty-five minutes to scrub, trim, and clean himself up enough that he felt human again. As he toweled himself off, he looked at his reflection, trying to swallow back the fear that was rebirthed in him since smelling Rachel's blood. The possibility that she could die in labor peeled open his deep wound of guilt and worry, the questions with no apparent answers eating at him relentlessly.

Hair damp and only clad in a towel, Sam slipped down the dark hall, praying to not wake Rachel as he twisted the knob and opened the door. He couldn't help but smile, seeing her hair splayed over his pillow as she curled up on his side of the bed, peacefully asleep. The way the blankets were draped allowed him to see her womb. It had only been two weeks, but she seemed far bigger than before.

Closing the door shut with barely a click, Sam fished out a pair of boxers and dropped the towel, slipping them on. He froze as she stirred, turning to face her as she sat up.

"Sam," she whispered, shocked. He heard the edge of nerves in her voice, and saw her hesitance even in the dim light.

"Baby girl," Sam sighed in relief, crossing to her, pausing as she instinctively backed away. His stomach tightened, hating the fear he saw in response to him. "It's okay, I promise," he assured. "It's over."

Rachel's heart slammed against her chest as she looked up at Sam, drawing in the clean scent of soap as he lingered by the mattress. "Sammy," she shivered, feeling her eyes begin to water.

Before she knew how, she was wrapped into Sam's arms, cradled to his chest. "God, I missed you," she heard him shudder above her, his fingers running through her hair. Rachel let the tears of release come, feeling Sam's embrace tighten in response. His mouth fluttered over her hair and down her cheek, his hands digging into her skin with possessiveness as he drew her tightly to himself. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, baby."

Rachel pulled away, looking into his eyes, his face partially illuminated by their nightlight. "Don't," she urged. "It's done." She stroked his cheek, smiling when he leaned into her touch.

"No more lies," he vowed. "I swear it to you."

"Sammy, it's—"

"I mean it. No more," Sam insisted, running his fingers over the skin of her forearm.

Rachel nodded, brushing his hair from his brow. "Okay."

Sam trapped Rachel's mouth into a bruising kiss, groaning as he drew her as close as possible. His hands sought every inch of her all at once, unable to settle for any one part. It was impossible for him to move slow against his pent up desire to be with her again, but she didn't seem to mind. Tearing his lips from hers, he cupped her face and looked into her eyes. "I don't deserve you," he whispered, sniffing back the tears that threatened to come.

"Sam—"

"I don't," he insisted. "I never have."

Rachel raked her fingers through Sam's damp hair. "Why do you think so little of yourself?" she asked, examining his eyes.

"How can I not?" he countered. "I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't."

Sam scoffed. "That's hardly a bar to set." His thumb stroked over Rachel's cheek. "You deserve so much more than this," he whispered, knowing the dual weight it carried. "You were meant for more."

"I was meant to be right here," Rachel insisted, taking his hands into hers. "With you." As Sam went to argue, Rachel pressed his palm to her stomach, holding it in place as he watched. Sam froze when he felt a hearty thump. His lips parted, his pulse stopping as he felt the fluttered movements. "He started kicking the minute I saw you," Rachel told him, seeing his enamored shock. "He knew his daddy was here. How can you tell me you don't deserve us, when he already knows your voice?"

"Oh my God," Sam shuddered. Tears flooded Sam's eyes and he swallowed hard, stunned at the sensation of feeling his son move. "Hey, little man," he whispered to her stomach, heart racing in pure joy. "This is …" He was at a loss for words.

Rachel smiled softly as she watched Sam marvel over their son. "Amazing, right?" she asked, catching his eyes.

Sam's cheeks were wet; he swiped away the few tears that remained. "You, him … You're both the most amazing things that have ever happened to me." He guided Rachel to lay with him, yanking the blankets over them. Sam wrapped her into his embrace from behind, nuzzling her neck and pressing light kisses over her as he spooned her. As he covered her stomach with his hands, he let the rest of his tears come as Robbie kicked his palms. His heart was more than full. In that moment, he forgot all about the painful possibilities of their futures. All that mattered was the two people he held.


	48. Chapter 48

Sam roused awake, slowly opening his eyes with a groan. Though he felt more than rested, his body still had a residual ache. It would take time for the kinks to work out, but being with Rachel again was more than healing.

Blinking to focus on her side of the bed, Sam's heart dropped when he saw it empty. He felt the sheets; they were cold to the touch. With a gulp, he looked at the clock. "Holy shit," he mumbled, standing up quickly as he tried to smooth his bed head. It was four in the afternoon. Sam's stomach roared to life, immediately aware of the lack of food from his long sleep.

Sam tugged on a pair of jeans and a navy blue v-neck tee shirt, putting on socks and boots before ruffling his fingers through his hair as he walked out of his room and down the hall toward the kitchen. The scent of garlic hit his nose almost immediately, his stomach angrily protesting the fast he inadvertently put it through.

Chatter filled the air among the clank of pots and pans. Sam could hear Dean's snicker in response to Bobby over something. He mostly ignored it, desperate to see Rachel. Though he knew she was safe and sound, waking up without her there nearly made him feel as if she still was lost.

"Sammy," Dean called out, laughing. "Thought she had you cuffed in there."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "I guess I needed the sleep."

Mary turned from the stove, smiling at Sam. "Bet you're hungry. Dinner will be done in about an hour, so you might want to have a snack."

Coming into the kitchen, Sam opened the fridge and snagged an apple. He palmed it for a moment as he shut the door, examining its red skin. "Where's Rachel?"

"Laundry," Dean replied. He held his hands up when Sam whirled around and eyed him. "Hey, look. Your girlfriend is no joke. She threatened Baby if I didn't let her."

Shaking his head, Sam set the apple down on the table and left the kitchen. He sighed as he headed to the small laundry room, hearing Rachel softly singing to herself in the distance. He smirked—it was beautiful to him, but he knew she was out of key. " _Be a simple, kind of man_ ," she sang, shaking out one of Sam's shirts, then neatly folding it. Sam leaned against the doorframe, enamored with the sight. " _Be something, you love and understand. Baby, be a simple kind of man. Won't you do this for me, son, if you can_." Rachel paused, stretching. She winced. The weight of her womb was already putting harsh pressure on her spine. "Jeez, buddy," she muttered. "How big are you gonna be? We're only at halftime, and you're already giving Mommy a back ache."

Sam gently cleared his throat; Rachel spun around, a flush coming over her cheeks. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Enough to know that it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard," Sam replied, pushing away from the wood and moving toward her. He plucked the shirt from her hands, ignoring her protest as he set it aside. "I also know that you are hereby banished from all domestic chores."

"Not you too," Rachel sighed.

"Baby, you're not resting enough," Sam insisted.

"And how would you know?"

"Because I know you, and you're a stubborn little minx." Sam took her hand as she reached for the clothes in the basket. "You're halfway through this, but you're running yourself ragged." He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Let me take over."

"And you just got better after two weeks of drying out," she countered. "If anyone needs rest, it's you."

"I can't rest unless you do," he replied, laughing softly through his nose at her frustrated grumble. "We've got twenty more weeks. Let me take care of you."

"Women fought wars while pregnant. They labored in fields, popped out a kid, and went back to work. I'm _fine._ "

Sam swallowed. He knew Rachel would be fine physically, but with the idea that he only had five more months with her was sickening. The last thing he wanted was to see her do laundry. "I know," he said gently. "But baby, please. You've been shouldering so much. I just want you to rest while you can. Enjoy this time." He shrugged. "Hell, I don't know, pick out paint colors for us to look at. A nursery theme. Anything but work."

Rachel shook her head with a sigh. "Fine, you giant sap. You win." She moved to him, settling into his embrace and drawing in a deep breath. "I missed you."

"I missed you," Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't lose her. Not after all this. Not when she was suppose to be fine. Not when he finally had a chance at true happiness. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he pulled away from her. With a stroke of his thumb across her cheek, Sam rotated her so she was facing the hall. "Go. I'll finish this."

After a sizable moment of hesitation, Rachel left. Tension immediately riddled Sam's body. He had to tell her, but he didn't know how, or when. Still, he vowed he would. No more secrets would come between them.

Grabbing a shirt, Sam half-heartedly folded it, trying not to let the rage flow through him over everything. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he didn't smell the essence in her blood. "Yeah, right," he growled to himself, tossing the shirt aside and pacing away from the dryer. "Son of a bitch!" Sam slammed his fist on top of the unit, rattling it as he clenched his fist in anger. He felt trapped. Stuck. There was no good way to break the news to her, nor was there any good way to possibly save her. Nothing Dean had found yet, anyway.

* * *

Once he finished the laundry, Sam returned to the kitchen, grateful when he found Rachel seated at the table, but grumpy when he saw her peeling a potato. "Hey," he said, "I told you, no housework."

"Sam," Rachel chided, brow furrowed, "it's a potato."

"You need to rest!" Sam insisted, hands on his hips.

Pausing from chopping vegetables, Mary glanced over her shoulder at her son and gave him a small, lopsided smile. "You know, your father said the same thing when I was pregnant with you."

Sam examined his mom. "And let me guess, you didn't listen to him either."

"Not a bit."

With a sigh, Sam sat across from Rachel. "Don't pout," Mary continued, Rachel smirking as she continued to work in silence. "Winchester boys don't pick their women for their obedience, and you know it."

Sam shook his head, smiling softly. "No, I certainly didn't." He eyed Rachel, watching her as she suppressed her giggle. He followed the careful slices she made into the skin of the potato with her knife. Immediately, he began thinking about her blood, about the possibility of her lineage. "Your father," he said quietly to Rachel, catching her attention at just the mention of him, "did he say anything else about your birth parents?"

Rachel searched his eyes. "Nothing I didn't tell you," she replied, confusion building within. "He just said they made a deal. He wasn't sure about what, but ..." She stopped, swallowing back the illness talking about it stirred within. "Why?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Just, uh, was curious." He stood, feeling Rachel's eyes locked on him.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he assured. "I'm, uh, gonna go find Dean."

"Library, last I heard," Mary offered, her back still to them. "He's been reading a lot. I don't think he's ever read this much."

"Did he find a case?" Rachel asked.

"No," Sam assured, smiling down at her. "He's just trying to prove me wrong about something."

Rachel watched Sam leave, a coolness running through her veins as she replayed Sam's words. He seemed nervous, on edge. And she swore she heard him kick or punch the washer when she left. With a deep breath, she resumed slicing the potato skin off. Sam had promised her no more lies, and she knew he meant it. So why did it feel like he was keeping something from her still?

In the library, Sam moved near Dean, his stomach in knots. "Anything?" he asked softly, hoping for some sort of good news.

"A steaming pile of nothing," Dean grumbled, slamming the book closed. He looked at Sam. "So, when are you … you know …"

Sam sat, propping his elbows on the table and supporting his head in his hands. "I have no idea even how to begin. 'Hey, by the way, your blood is likely angel blood, and the baby I impregnated you with is going to kill you?' Dean, there's no good way to tell her."

"Maybe don't look for a good way, then," Dean offered, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe just say it."

"Easy for you," Sam scoffed. "You're not the one who knocked her up."

Dean lowered his voice a little. "Speaking of, are we absolutely sure that you did?"

Sam's brow arched. "What do you mean?"

"What if the angel blood you smelled was Arioch's?"

The idea of Arioch with Rachel made Sam want to hurl. He squeezed his eyes shut, drawing in a breath of patience. "Then why would I smell demon too?" he countered after a moment of thought.

"True," Dean agreed. "So … Robbie is yours, and Rach is a juiceless, wingless dick."

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, darkness polluting his voice.

Dean shook his head. "Angels," he corrected. "They're dicks, and if … well, she's not, obviously …" He tripped over his words as his brother narrowed his eyes at him. "Just that ...Cas and them, you know … and …" Dean sighed. "Look, I know Rach isn't a dick, even if she is an angel."

"Rachel is an angel?" Castiel asked behind them, surprising the brothers.

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean growled, trying to calm his quickened pulse. "The hell, man?"

"Why do you think Rachel is an angel?" Castiel continued, unaffected by Dean's irritation.

"Zip it," Dean warned as the angel approached.

Castiel seemed to not be fazed in the slightest, his curiosity controlling him. "I've been in her mind, Dean. She has no grace."

"Right," Sam said. "But if Jack had no grace, would you be able to tell he was a nephilim?"

"I suppose not," Castiel confessed. "Nephilim are harder to spot than vessels. The human qualities about them give them a sort of camouflage against location. A lesser signal. It's not impossible to find them, of course, but tricky." He looked into Sam's eyes. "Are you saying she's …?"

"Maybe," Sam admitted.

Castiel paused for a moment. "You smelled her blood," he concluded, looking Sam over. His blue eyes rounded. "It all makes sense now. Why she was chosen by Arioch, why she was flooded with visions."

"Her mojo could be just Little Man too," Dean offered.

"Which, by the way, you said he was human," Sam added, clearly more than irritated as he looked to Castiel.

"He is," Castiel assured. "Albeit, now we know a true mutt of one, but he's very much human."

"With demon and angel blood."

"It's unheard of, but yes. If you smelled the scent, then your son has both." Castiel stared off into the distance with wonder. "Amazing. Robbie would be the only known living creature to possess a combination of those genetics. It explains why Lucifer was intent on having him as his own." He glanced back at Sam, hesitancy lacing his tone. "Sam, your son … Your son is the first and only if his kind. There's no way to predict what will happen when he is born."

Sam swiped his hand over his mouth as he thought, his gut churning in fear and dread. "How can we be sure Rachel is an angel?" he asked. "Maybe I was wrong."

"We could use holy oil."

"What?" Sam narrowed his eyes at Castiel. "So you'd like to hurt her?"

"I can heal her," Castiel countered. "If she reacts in any way to the oil, we can be certain of her lineage. We can then also potentially track down her grace, if it hasn't been destroyed."

"How?" Dean asked.

"There will be a residual somewhere in her. I'd have to do a deep search to find the essence."

"No," Sam grumbled. "First you want to use the oil, and now you want to dig around in her? No."

"Sam—" Dean began.

"No," Sam repeated, eyeing Dean. "She's my girlfriend. She's pregnant with our child. No one's touching her, got it?" He looked between his brother and Castiel, trying to calm the rage that flowed through him at the idea of Rachel being hurt.

With a huff, Sam left the library, tugging at his hair as he paced back into the kitchen. Mary was gone, Rachel hovering near the stove with a spoon in hand. She jumped a little as Sam wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Hey," she laughed, "you scared me."

Sam kissed the bit of skin exposed near her shoulder. If Rachel was an angel, not only would it complicate her pregnancy, but their relationship. After all, if her grace was restored, she would no longer be "his" Rachel, but another version, one possibly that had an opposing mission to Team Free Will. Still, her grace would likely be all that would keep her alive through her labor. "Sorry," he murmured, hating the weight of what he knew.

Rachel set the spoon down and turned within his embrace. "Talk to me," she urged, studying his stiffened expression as she brushed his hair from his brows.

With a deep breath, Sam looked into her eyes. "You need to sit down," he said, pain creasing his features.


	49. Chapter 49

Nervously, Rachel moved to the kitchen table and sat, watching as Sam sat across from her. "What's going on?" she asked, panic building within.

With a sniff, Sam looked toward the wall, trying to summon up courage and the right words. "When you were with me in the dungeon, and you cut your hand, I …" He swallowed, looking back at her. "I could smell something in your blood."

Rachel wet her lips. "Robbie?"

"I smelled him, but … I also smelled something else."

"What?"

A wave of white light hit Rachel like a ton of bricks at gale force. She heard Sam calling out her name as he scrambled toward her, and could feel his touch as he begged for her to respond. Still, she couldn't. Pure brightness swept over her vision, seeming to reach into her very being and grip her body with invisible hands. Rachel cowered away from it, trying to hide from the painful burning behind her eyes and the ringing in her head. She didn't realize she was being fully supported by Sam, paralyzed under the intensity of the power that surged through her.

"Dean! Cas!" Sam shouted over his shoulder, panicking as he tried to get Rachel to respond to him. "Baby, please!" he begged, supporting her as they crouched on the kitchen floor.

Dean and Castiel rushed into the room, Dean pausing in shock but Castiel not skipping a beat as he approached. He laid his hand on Rachel's head, retracting it with surprise. "Sam," he murmured, "she's …"

"She's what?"

"She's resonating."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked. "Fix her, Cas!"

Castiel replaced his hand, grimacing as he kept contact with her skin. Eventually, his face began to relax, and Rachel stopped her panicked movements. Slowly she looked up to Sam, bottom lip quivering as she searched his eyes. "Sam," she shivered, "I … What was that?"

"Tell me what you saw," Castiel interrupted, gaining her attention.

"Nothing," Rachel replied, brow wrinkled. "Just whiteness."

"What else?"

"That's it."

"Surely you must've seen something," Castiel scoffed. "You were resonating."

"What does that even mean?" Dean asked.

"It means there's something angelic within her. It's a different frequency than mine. A strong one—one of high first sphere power." Castiel eyed Rachel, stepping toward her. "She likely saw something."

"Hey," Sam growled, glaring at Castiel with warning. "Easy." He refocused on Rachel. "Did you hear anything?"

Rachel swallowed, her throat dried out from the panic. "Just voices. Tons of them."

"What were they saying?" Sam asked gently.

"I don't …" With a pause, Rachel looked between the three men. She blinked slowly, paling with realization. "'They must die,'" she whispered. She shook her head. "WhatI heard wasn't English. At all. So … why do I know that?"

"Enochian," Castiel explained as Sam helped Rachel to stand, steadying her in his arms. He looked at the brothers. "She's hearing angel radio."

"Wait, what?!" Rachel interrupted. She gripped Sam tightly, trying to quell her fears. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

Sam raked his fingers through her hair, keeping one arm on her to steady her. "It's what I was trying to explain. Your blood … it's different. I smelled it. And any time I've picked up that scent has involved an angel. You're …" He gritted his molars against his tears. "You're an angel, sweetheart."

"A nephilim, we assume," Castiel added.

"And only the second angel in history to not be a total dick," Dean added.

Rachel looked between the three, dumbfounded. "No," she laughed, "you guys are way off, okay? It was Robbie. He's the one with power, not me."

Sam stroked her cheek. "You have to be, baby," he insisted. "It makes sense."

"What does—a scent?" Rachel's eyes narrowed at him. "Sam, I don't have powers. I can't fly or do any shit like Cas does."

"Because your grace is missing," Castiel explained. "Though, your connection to the frequency is building rapidly."

"How, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I suspect as Robbie grows stronger, he will restore aspects of his mother as well."

"Because they're sharing a vessel, sort of. Like Gadreel."

Castiel nodded. "Though I doubt Robbie has the ability to restore grace, being a halfling himself."

"Then why did he block you and Gabe out?"

"It seems he's becoming more aware, just as Jack has. Robbie will likely learn and grow in much the same way. He understands who his family is now, which is why he didn't fight me healing Rachel's hand."

"So, she'll be okay through labor?" Sam asked quietly.

"Not necessarily," Castiel replied. "Though, if we could find her grace, we could potentially protect her."

"But with her grace, she'd be—"

"Shut up! Just … shut up!" Rachel screamed, pulling away from Sam and backing toward the doorway. The three men paused, each pained as they saw Rachel's anger and fear surging through her. "Don't," she warned, holding her hand up as Sam approached. "Stop talking about me like I'm not even here. Look, just … Just stop. All of you." Her chest rose and fell with her shallow, rapid breaths.

"We're trying to help," Sam insisted gently.

"What you're doing is going nuts," she countered. "I'm _not_ an angel. I'm just a regular person. _Regular_."

Dean stepped forward. "Rach, I know this is crazy—"

Rachel scoffed. "This is beyond crazy. This is insanity."

"Sweetheart," Sam urged softly, barely audible to anyone but her, "it'll be okay."

Sam saw Rachel's face pale. He watched her as she studied the wall over his shoulder, practically seeing the gears turning in her head. She remembered something.

 _Guilt and fear flooded her for leaving Lucifer unattended, and she rushed back into the room, seeing Rowena in Lucifer's hold. Eyes wide, she tried to intercept, but was tossed to the nearest wall with a flick of Lucifer's wrist, bound to it by his power. "So, was I right?" He waited, seeing her tightened look. "Hah. Told ya so," he said to her with a smirk, still holding Rowena in place._

 _Rachel squirmed under his grip. "Let her go!"_

" _Shh. Don't strain yourself, Preggo."_

" _Leave her alone!"_

 _Lucifer shrugged. "Okay. Say yes to my deal, and I'll throw the witch's life in. A nice big potluck of saving people and learning about yourself. What do you say, Rach?"_

" _Rachel, whatever tricks he's up to, don't listen to him!" Rowena warned through a raspy voice._

 _Lucifer tightened his grip, silencing her. He shook his head, clucking his tongue at Rowena. "But see, this is what happens when you get on my bad side." He looked Rachel over. "So is it a yes, sugar? Because I've really got to get going here. If it's not, I'll just snap her neck and be on my way."_

" _Yes," Rachel stammered, tears filling her eyes. She knew what she saw. What he said was the truth. She had to protect Sam from himself, and she couldn't let Rowena die. There was no other choice._

" _Excellent." He sighed, suddenly looking bored. "Okay, so … Mom was a rebellious angel. Dad was a human. They hooked up, and she got pregnant. Whoops. Big no-no for Pops, because out popped you nine months later, a nephilim. Mom got her juice taken away while she was pregnant, which made you just human, but Pops still wanted all three of you dead. So, Mom and Dad made a deal with Azazel to have him kill off the armies hunting you down in exchange for their souls. They tossed you at the Lentzs after you were born, Azazel collected his dues, and here you are in all your fallen former half-angel glory. Boom. Your lineage—your own personal Ellis Island."_

Rachel swallowed hard, blinking the three men back into focus. "Just leave me alone, okay?!" she growled. Turning on her heel, Rachel bolted through the archway toward the library.

Sam ran his hand over his face, going after her. "Rachel," he called out, managing to snag her hand in the hall, stilling her. "Stay with me. Talk to me."

Silent tears coated Rachel's cheeks. "Just … Just leave me be," she whispered, not looking at him.

"I can't do that," he replied in kind, keeping a gentle, yet firm grip on her. "Not when you're hurting like this. Not when you need me."

"Sam, if you're right, then …" Rachel searched his eyes. "Then I'm … dangerous. If Robbie restores my power, I don't … I can't control … If I hurt you—"

"You're not going to hurt me," Sam insisted, stepping closer to her.

"I could, like Jack, before he knew his power."

"But you won't."

"You don't know that."

Sam hooked her chin between his fingers and tilted her head up. "Whose are you?" he asked with a sure firmness that made Rachel pause.

"Sam, it's not that easy anymore."

"Whose are you?" he repeated, examining her reddened eyes.

Rachel drew in a shaky breath. "Yours," she whispered, trying to calm the surge of fear in her.

"That's right," Sam whispered back, stepping closer, still holding her chin. "You're mine. No matter what."

"Sammy—"

"No matter what."

With a shuddered sigh, Rachel shut her eyes. "I'm a nephilim," she grimaced. "I remember now. Lucifer told me."

Sam pulled her a little closer, eyes widening as his hand moved to cup her cheek. "What else did he tell you?"

"Just that … my mother was a fallen angel. My father was human. She got pregnant with me and the angels wanted us destroyed. I didn't have grace because she wasn't fully restored. They … They made a deal, my parents. With Azazel."

Sam's heart stopped. "Azazel?"

"To keep me alive," Rachel shuddered. "After I was born, he reaped their souls." She shook in Sam's grip. "Sam, Robbie is … If he's half me and you …"

Drawing her close, Sam wrapped his arms tightly around Rachel, stroking her back as she buried her face into his tee shirt. "Shh," he urged above her. "You're both gonna be fine. There's nothing I won't do for you."

She sniffed, her voice muffled as she shook her head. "Sammy—"

"No. You're gonna be fine. So is Robbie. I mean it." He tightened his jaw as he stared blankly at the brick across from him on the wall. "You're safe. I promise." He brushed a feather light kiss on the top of her head. "We need to start setting things up," he mused quietly, trying to drive them onto a different mental track as he fingered her dark waves. "Get the nursery ready."

"It's not that easy anymore."

"Yes it is," he insisted. "I'll ask my mom about her room."

"Don't you get it?" Rachel asked angrily, pulling away from him. She looked at him, forehead creased with her irritation over his deflection."He's a nephilim, Sam. One that's also part demon. We're not setting anything up, because he's not—"

"Stop," Sam interrupted, taking her upper arms and gently holding her in place. "I don't care what he is. He's our son. Our little boy—the one you've always believed in." He raked her hair from her eyes. "And you're going to be just fine through this. You hear me?" She began to shake her head, but Sam made her pause. "He's our boy. And you'll be fine, sweetheart. Okay?" He waited through her silence, hopeful when she didn't argue back. "Say it," he encouraged gently, immediately recalling a moment of deja vu when they first learned she was pregnant.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Good girl." Sam pulled her to himself, jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of Dean and Cas watching in the distance. If he was being honest, he was just as scared as Rachel was. What if she was right? What if their son, being a hybrid, was evil? No road was paved on this particular journey. Robbie was the very first of his kind, a child born to suffer an eternal struggle of good versus evil within his own self. Would he be a Jekyll and Hyde type of person? Would he choose the right thing? Or would he destroy everything in his path with the vast power he possessed?

"Let's get you some food," Sam encouraged, guiding Rachel back into the kitchen.

Mary had returned to the stove, worry flooding her features as she saw her son and Rachel's solemn looks when they walked in. "What's wrong?" she asked, setting the spoon down and turning off the stove burner.

"It's fine," Sam replied nonchalantly, avoiding her eyes.

"No," Rachel interrupted, drawing in a deep breath. She examined Sam, seeing his reservation. "She deserves to know. They all do."

"Rachel—"

"Apparently, I'm a nephilim," Rachel continued to Mary, straightening a little as she tried to find a sense of courage. She saw Sam's ticked off reaction in her peripheral.

Mary glanced at Sam, then to Dean and Castiel, then back to Rachel. "That means that …"

"That Robbie is part angel, and part demon," Rachel concluded.

"Is that even possible?" Bobby asked quietly as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Apparently so," Sam replied.

"Then, he's technically a nephilim," Mary concluded. She swallowed. "Rachel—"

"She's going to be fine," Sam insisted gruffly, squeezing Rachel's hand tightly. He drew in a sharp breath. "She needs to eat, though." He distracted himself by sitting Rachel down, then moving to the dinner waiting on the stove and fixing her a plate. Everyone else remained quiet, the tension in the room unbearably thick. Sam set the plate in front of her, kissing the top of her head before he returned to fix his own plate. No one moved, and Sam became more irritated the longer the others remained stoic. "Look," he finally said, carelessly placing his plate on the table next to Rachel's, "she'll be fine. Because angel blood or not, she's mine, and we're going to find a way." He looked at the others, who glanced away nervously. "And Robbie," Sam continued, voice raising as he glared at everyone, "is just a baby. Our _son._ A good, innocent, human child with a pure soul." He felt like a trapped animal. "And you know what? He'll be fine too. My _family_ is going to be _fine._ Alright?!"

Deafening silence spread through the air for a few long moments. "Alright, Sammy," Dean finally said, holding Sam's gaze. He saw the pain in his brother's eyes, determined to do whatever he needed to to take it away. He nodded, clearing his throat. "Let's eat."


	50. Chapter 50

To say that tensions were thick for the remainder of the evening was an understatement. After a while of forced interaction, Sam took Rachel off into the Dean Cave to spend some alone time with her. With a heavy sigh, he shut the door, relieved to have the thick wood between them and the others. "So, what are you in the mood for?" he asked with a small smile, snatching the controller up and flicking on the TV.

Rachel watched as Sam made himself comfortable in the corner of the couch, moving to sit next to him as he beckoned. "It doesn't matter," she replied softly, entirely distracted by everything that went on before and after dinner.

"How about _Jurassic World_? You said you wanted to watch that a while ago."

"Sure."

After selecting the movie, Sam rested the controller down and drew Rachel back against his chest. He fished out the plain brown blanket that laid over the back of the couch, shaking it and draping it over them. He sighed in peaceful relief as Rachel curled up against him, tucking the fabric over her meticulously, as if the cotton could protect her from every evil imaginable.

Neither spoke for a bit, each distracted by the movie. Sam observed the cookie cutter suburban house featured in it. A pang of guilt surged through him, his long fingers running over Rachel's womb as he held her. "If you could have any type of house, what would you have?" he asked quietly.

The question caught Rachel off guard. "Um, maybe a cottage? Like a cozy little beach house with rockers on the front porch."

Sam smiled as he imagined it. It had been some time since he saw the ocean. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a bikini," he teased.

"After having a baby? Pfft. I'll be wearing a muumuu."

He laughed. "Why?"

"Um, stretch marks, saggy skin …"

"Baby, you're gorgeous. Now, and all the time."

Rachel sighed, ready to rebut when she paused. "It might not matter anyway," she said quietly.

"Stop," Sam ordered, tightening his arms around her as he pressed a kiss to her ear. "I meant what I said," he whispered to her. "You're going to be fine."

"Sam—"

"You are. Because you're mine. He's ours. And _nothing_ will ever hurt you or him. Period." Sam's lips brushed over her neck as he drew in a deep breath. "I swear it to you."

Rachel chose not to reply, feeling the ripples of tension in Sam's muscular arms. Instead, she let herself sink into his hold and his promise, nestling against him as he cupped her womb. She had to believe in him. He deserved her trust, since he was so willing to put himself on the line. She smiled as Robbie began to squirm inside of her, knowing Sam felt the movements. "Shh, buddy," Sam urged the baby as he stroked her womb. "Let your mama rest." When Robbie stilled, Rachel was stunned. "He gets his intelligence from you," Sam mused with a grin.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Okay, Stanford Law."

" _Pre_ law," Sam laughed.

"Uh, Stanford."

With a kiss to her head and an adjustment against the couch, Sam settled back against the cushions. "Agree to disagree," he said, possessively combing her hair and holding her to himself.

The silence they shared was welcomed, each drinking in the other's presence. Their reconnection was healing, especially for Sam. Holding her close was all he had wanted for what seemed like forever. And his touch was the gentle, yet sure security she craved.

It wasn't long before Rachel fell asleep under Sam's methodical strokes. The movie ended, Sam too distracted to care about the credits rolling as he thought about Castiel's proposal. If he could find Rachel's essence, her grace might be able to be located. Or, a grace compatible with her. If she had it, she could heal from her labor. Getting it would require a painful scope of her being, something Sam wasn't entirely willing to sign off on. Still, what other choice did he have?

With a deep breath, Sam managed to slide Rachel over and stand, quickly scooping her into his arms. He could tell Robbie had made her gain weight, her stomach pronounced on her small frame. Even still, she seemed so small in his embrace. She needed his protection, and he'd stop at nothing to give it to her.

Sam made his way to the bedroom, carefully laying her down on their bed. He tucked her in, glancing to the unused side next to her. Sighing, he turned and left the room for the library. He was far too wound up to sleep. Answers needed to be found, and fast.

* * *

Hours later, Dean walked in the library, ready to shut off the light when he saw Sam pouring over an open book. Stacks surrounded him, scribbled notes on a pad next to two empty beer bottles. Sam's hair was a ruffled mess, likely from him tugging on it. Dean took a few steps closer, knowing Sam heard him. Yet, his focus remained on the book he was reading. "Rach in bed?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, not taking his eyes off the old text he was reading.

Dean watched him for a moment, seeing Sam write down some Latin next to another chunk of text. "A spell?"

"Kind of a hybrid of a few spells."

"That do what?"

"Well, one is for healing, another for strength, and the last one is for protection. Figure if I can combine traits, and perfect the Latin, it could be enough to prevent anything during Rachel's labor."

"So … You're going the spell route instead of the obvious answer?"

Sam looked up at Dean. "Which would be what, exactly?"

"Her grace, man," Dean said, sitting down across from him. "It can protect her."

"And her grace can also change her completely," Sam argued. He held up his hand, stopping Dean before he could interrupt. "Look, I've lost Rachel more times than I care to count, and she's been through hell over the last six months. So, if I can prevent both of those things happening, then you're damn straight I'll choose a spell over grace."

"I know you're scared," Dean said gently, "but slapping some Latin together sounds more risky than restoring her."

Sam slammed the book shut. "Yeah, well I'm not willing to see her being torn into to search for grace that probably doesn't exist. She was born without it. Why do you think we'd be able to find it easily?"

"Not 'it,' per say, but something close to it."

"And by doing that, we put her and Robbie on display for every fucking angel there is." Sam's nostrils flared. "So no, I'm not making the woman I love and my unborn child a beacon for dickbag angels."

"You heard her," Dean argued. "'They must die.' They're already all over angel radio, Sam. The stronger Robbie gets, the more they'll sense him." He eyed his brother, who angrily rubbed at his brows. "Look, I'm not pretending that you or Rach are in an easy place right now. Believe me. Neither of you deserve what you've been through. But you've got to look at what's best for her. Even if it's the shittiest option."

Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes watery with tears. "So, just let Cas rip her open while I watch?" The pain in his tone made Dean's heart ache.

"I wish there was a better way."

Glancing toward the hall, Sam drew in a deep breath through his nose. "Me too," he whispered. He shut his eyes, swallowing back his disgust. "Dean, I can't … I'm afraid I'll go crazy if he does it."

"We'll worry about that if it happens," Dean assured.

"Why do I keep putting her through so much pain?" Sam wiped away a tear. "Why can't I just give her peace and protection for a change?"

"Sammy, you're not doing this to her."

" _I_ got her pregnant. If it weren't for me, she'd be a blissfully unaware, graceless nephilim."

"If it weren't for you, she'd likely be dead," Dean corrected. Sam scoffed. "You know it's the truth. That SOB would've drained her, because your girl is too much of a fighter for him." He paused. "You've gotta remember that, Sam. Rach is a _fighter._ She ganked two demons single-handedly while pregnant and bleeding out. Hell, while you were detoxing, I've never seen someone so calm about something so screwy. She's strong, man."

"I know she is," Sam said softly. "That's what I'm afraid of. Cas said she was resonating power different than his. First sphere. Do you know what kind of angels are in the first sphere? Archangels, and Seraphs. And our resident Seraph just said her frequency she's resonating is different than his."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean replied, confused. "Her _Mom_ was the angel. So, can't be an archangel. Besides, only Lucifer and Michael are left, so it can't be possible."

"Dean, there are eight known archangels— Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel are the most popular. But there's also Selaphiel, Jegudiel, and Barachiel. I'm guessing they're the female version. Or one of them assumed a female vessel when they fell."

Dean leaned back in his seat. "So she's half archangel?"

"There's no other explanation."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Sam sighed heavily. "So if we use too much grace while restoring her, Heaven is going to either be after her to recruit her for the war, or to kill her. Not to mention how everyone will be fighting for Robbie."

"There's no stopping it," Dean countered softly. "Sammy, your boy is just going to keep getting stronger. There's no way to hide them anymore. The warding here is enough to protect him and Rach from being located."

"Just don't ever let them out." Sam's tone was bitter. Dean remained quiet, seeing the struggle on his brother's face. "Fine. So, if she agrees, we dig out her essence, and use _only enough_ grace to heal her during labor." Before Dean could reply, Sam stood. "It's _her_ choice, though," he clarified stiffly. "And hers alone."

Dean watched Sam leave the library, noting how he abandoned his research without his usual tendency to straighten things up. "Cas," he said softly. Castiel flapped into the room, concerned as he looked at Dean and the table. "When you dig through Rach, will it hurt her?"

"There is extraordinary pain, yes," Castiel replied.

"Fan-friggin-tastic."

"Has Sam agreed?"

"He's leaving the choice up to her." Dean narrowed his eyes in thought. "Say if Rach's grace was part archangel. How hard would that be to find?"

Castiel's brows raised. "Very difficult, considering most of them are dead."

"Even the D-list ones?"

"I don't follow. What 'D-list?'"

Dean waved his hand around. "Sera … Stepha … Silva … You know, Styrofoam and her gang?" He grumbled in response to Castiel's confusion. "Look, I don't know their names, but Sam said they're three lesser archangels. Unpopular ones. Probably the hot nerd type."

"You mean, Selaphiel, Jegudiel, and Barachiel?"

"Them," Dean nodded, snapping his fingers together with a confirming point.

Castiel considered it for a long moment. "It would make sense. Her frequency was different than a Seraph, and all that would be left are the three sisters."

"So, they _are_ chicks?"

"In your terms, sort of. I'm guessing that one assumed a female vessel after her descent."

"Any clue as to which one?"

"No, but my examination can help with that." Castiel paused. "Dean, restoring grace is tricky. Too much of it, and there's little chance Rachel will retain her more human-like qualities," he noted quietly.

"Well, that's just swell." Dean stood, his anger building with each passing moment. Rachel and his nephew were in the line of fire for the unforeseen future. The woman his brother loved dearly, who he considered his sister, and a tiny child, his blood. He took one of Sam's empty beer bottles, rolling it in his hand before chucking it across the room. The amber glass shattered, splintering into shards that showered over the concrete floor. He panted, the destruction not enough to sate his anger. The second bottle went flying in the same way, but it still didn't satisfy him. Dean sucked in a deep breath, glancing over at Castiel, who watched him. "Cas," Dean grumbled, "I don't care what it takes, you've gotta keep them safe, and human."

Castiel nodded, his brow creased as he examined Dean. "I will protect them with my life."

The angel watched as Dean stalked off to his room, leaving the mess on the floor. Castiel looked toward it with a small frown, snapping his fingers and cleaning the space. He swallowed, glancing toward the hall. He hadn't revealed everything he knew for how to retrieve information to Dean or Sam, especially afraid Sam would reject the suggestion. True, examination was the most practical of ways, but there was one other that had to be done in secret, or otherwise it would fail. Now, he had a choice to make, one he wasn't taking lightly. If he was successful, it could save Rachel a lot of physical pain. Yet, it was a violation, and a delicate task. He would be acting without permission, and he had to be careful, as not to alter Rachel's entire being. Still, what he might find could be game changing.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered with a sigh as he made his choice, closing his eyes. With a flap of his wings, he disappeared.


	51. Chapter 51

_**Just wanted to say thanks to all those who are reading along! I'd love to hear your feedback!**_

 _ **My plan is to continue wrapping Season 14 into this world I've made, so I'm counting down the days until October! haha**_

* * *

Sam stripped down to his boxer briefs and inched into bed, hoping to avoid waking Rachel. He was unsuccessful, though. "You okay?" she asked groggily, blinking heavily as she focused on his face in the dim light.

"I am now," he replied, settling in on his side and wrapping Rachel into his embrace. He kissed her forehead, sighing against her skin as he thought of his research. Dean was right, though he didn't want to admit what his brother said was true. An examination was the best way to start the process. The pain she'd go through, though, made him sick.

Sam brushed his lips on Rachel's, seeking hers further when he felt the gentle vibration of her moan on his mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair, the pads dragging along his scalp. Sam groaned in heady satisfaction, tasting her mouth with languid kisses peppered with frisky nips.

Taking hold of her, Sam rolled into his back, steadying Rachel to straddle him without barely breaking the kiss. "Sam," she hesitated, pulling back to search his eyes. "I'm too …"

"Tired," he concluded. "It's fine, sweetheart." His eyes were more sincere than she knew was possible.

"No," she corrected. "It's not that. It's just …"

"Am I hurting you? Your stomach?" Sam asked quickly, panic in his eyes.

"No," Rachel assured. "I'm okay. It's just, I'm too …" She sighed. "I'm too big. I'm going to smoosh you up here."

Sam's mouth twisted a little before he let out a hearty laugh. "Baby girl," he chuckled, tucking hair behind her ear, "you're absolutely fucking perfect." He smirked. "And I can show you just how perfect you are." His hands slid down over her waist, taking hold of her hips, his lips curling into a lopsided smile. He swallowed a moan as she instinctively ground hers against his. "Damn," he growled, lifting to kiss her. He took control of her mouth with his as his hands roamed over her backside. "So damn perfect," he whispered against her lips.

"With this giant belly?" she scoffed.

"Hell yes. Know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it's yours, and our son is in there. And that is one of the most beautiful things I will ever see in my life."

Rachel laughed. "God, you're like a Hallmark card."

"Roses are red," Sam teased with a grin, his fingers stroking over her backside and hips. "Violets are blue. You're so beautiful." He paused, his smirk widening as he gently rolled her onto her back, making sure she was supported as he hovered over her. "And I'm gonna make love to you."

* * *

Some time later, both Sam and Rachel were blissfully asleep in bed, tangled in each other's arms. It was dark in their room, aside from the soft glow from the nightlight across from them. Castiel drew in a hesitant breath as he watched them. They looked so peaceful, and obviously in need of rest, as neither seemed to sense his presence. Their love was palatable, sweet and tender despite the fear and worry that surrounded them. With a careful touch to each of their foreheads simultaneously, Castiel put them both under an even deeper sleep than they were.

He lingered by Rachel's side of the bed, hesitating as he looked down at her. She was so young, yet so strong. She and Sam should've been looking forward to their son's arrival. Instead, with only a small glimpse into Sam's head, he saw the intense fear and guilt he held. He did a fairly good job being calm for Rachel's sake, but inside, he was a mess. Rachel wasn't any better—she was hanging on by a thread that she wasn't carrying the worst evil imaginable in her womb.

With a small grimace, Castiel rested his palm on Rachel's forehead. He closed his eyes, sinking into the opening he made into her mind, and into her memories.

 _Castiel looked around in the vastness of Rachel's mind. Judging from the lack of indicators in her present self, it was clear she wasn't currently aware of her lineage in the slightest. Her most intimate connections to her past were likely buried under several layers, perhaps existing without her even being aware._

 _He walked through the open corridors of the dream-like state of her mind, carefully peering around. It was comforting to see how she had positively cataloged her memories and thoughts of her time with him and the Winchesters. The warmth that surrounded her conscious from her time with Sam flowed over him, assurance that despite their hardships, she held pure, true love for him. Still, the brightness of her present was soon tainted at the edges with bleeding darkness from her past. Whatever he'd soon encounter wouldn't be pretty._

 _He stopped when he came to the incessant darkness, the source humming with energy. Well-buried memories vibrated within the mind, but were usually tucked away into a corner out of sight. They weren't easily accessed, but his power granted him the ability. What he would see in there were things Rachel likely didn't truly remember, or had purposefully ignored. In order for them to be in her apparent conscious, he would have to transfer them out of the darkness. And to do that would be potentially damaging to her as a person. Whatever he did, he couldn't alter any memories—no matter what._

 _Through the thickened curtain of ash, Castiel stepped into a darkened kitchen of a suburban home. It was a summer evening, crickets chirping melodically through opened, screened windows as a thin blanket of humidity hung in the air. He followed the path of light that filtered in from the living room, voices becoming clearer the closer he stepped. Boldly, he walked into the room, knowing the people inside couldn't see him, so long as he kept the veil over himself. If he, in any way, interacted with them, it could change Rachel's entire history._

 _A tall man in a blue button up shirt and khakis paced in front of a fireplace as a blonde-haired woman sat in a wingback armchair, wrapping herself in a summerweight cardigan._

" _She's sick!" Jeremy Lentz growled, pausing as he turned to his wife. "It's as if she can't stop herself."_

" _She's only a child," his wife, Cathy, argued. "You can't blame her when you've got all these books around. She's just curious."_

" _No, Cathy. This isn't curiosity. This is a part of her. It's inherent in her. We should've known that from the beginning, when her parents rambled on about the crossroads. I thought it was drugs. Turns out, it's the Devil."_

" _The Devil?!"_

" _I have a contact at Capitilum Nine." The man raise a hand to pause the woman. "It needs to be dealt with. Period."_

 _Cathy drew in a shaky breath. "By yourself? And how?"_

 _Jeremy examined her. "Intercession, and a cleansing." He turned to his bookshelf, pulling down a small box from the top shelf and opening it, withdrawing holy water, a crucifixion, and a small weathered book._

 _Cathy glanced toward the staircase leading to the bedrooms. "Please, Jerry, just … be easy on her."_

 _Castiel could see a small, thin dark-haired girl watching intently from the stairs, hidden from her parents' view by angles and shadows. "Dazi nahal sov ninezama," young Rachel whispered, her voice soft but sure._

" _Michael's fury," Castiel whispered as he translated the words. The girl had spoken in Enochian, but how could she if she was born without grace? "Perhaps she had some initially," he mused, watching as young Rachel, clad in brightly colored pajamas, scurried up the stairs with an eerie silence._

 _Jeremy seemed unaware of her spying as he climbed the stairs, sucking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. Castiel could see Jeremy's internal battle—Cathy was right. He had all of those books on demon possession, which he had bought after taking Rachel in. Guilt hung over him like a thick fog, fearing that he brought evil into his home, or made it with his lack of faith. Still, the chances of him admitting that were more than slim._

 _Castiel followed Jeremy to Rachel's room, a small bedroom decorated in weathered oak furniture and pale pink and yellow florals. Young Rachel sat on her bed, clutching a worn stuffed bear. "What's wrong, Daddy?" she asked as she looked up at Jeremy, seeming calmer than she should've been for how he examined her._

" _Daemone templum," Jeremy began after opening the book to a marked page, holding out his crucifix toward Rachel with a shaky hand, "ego praecipio tibi in nomine domini dimittere hac tum praetoria nave ad infernum, et unde venisti."_

 _Rachel's brow wrinkled. She was quiet for a long moment. "I'm not a demon, Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. Jeremy's lips parted. He stepped closer, uncapping the holy water and splashing some on her. Rachel's confusion grew, as did Jeremy's shock. "Daddy, I'm not evil!"_

 _Castiel watched as Jeremy closed the book and retreated from the room, all but slamming Rachel's door shut. He heard the child sigh, and glanced back over at her. As she blinked, her eyes turned a pale blue from their chocolate hue, a glow emanating from them. With a second blink, they returned to normal. "She once had power," Castiel murmured, surprised._

 _Walking through the wall, Castiel followed Jeremy as he retreated toward the living room, replacing the items in the box on the shelf. Cathy moved toward him, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. "Jerry," she whispered, seeing the panic in her husband's eyes, "what happened?"_

 _Jeremy didn't reply. He swept up a business card from the box and headed for the kitchen. A corded phone waited on the wall; he snagged it, and punched in the number on the card. Cathy followed him, pausing by his side as she listened. "Hello, Mister Kaye? This is Jeremy Lentz. … I was given your information by William Calder. … Yes, sir. … No, sir, I— … I don't know what's wrong with my daughter. She's … No, no reaction. … No, the incantation didn't work. … No, no effect from the holy water. … Tonight?" Jeremy looked at Cathy, then to the clock. "Yes, I'll bring her. I'm about two hours away. … Thank you."_

 _Jeremy hung up the phone, sighing heavily. "Jerry," Cathy whispered, "who was that?"_

" _Someone who can help," Jeremy replied. He straightened, ignoring Cathy's pleading eyes as he slipped on his shoes and headed back up the stairs._

 _Rachel gasped as Jeremy burst into her room. "Daddy, please," she begged; Castiel was pained as he saw her desperate expression. "Please, I'm a good girl, Daddy! Don't take me there!"_

" _She knew," Castiel whispered. "She knew where she was headed." But how? And where was it? He watched as Rachel tried to scurry away from Jeremy, who seized her in his iron grip. It was difficult to witness, how the much bigger man roughly handled the lithe child. Castiel swallowed back his anger, attempting to remind himself it was a distant memory, something not to interfere with. Still, his hands balled into fists by his sides as he watched Rachel break away, only to be grabbed by the hair by Jeremy. The girl's screams pierced the air, Cathy's frantic voice from the first floor joining the cacophony of sounds._

 _Rachel put up a fight, which was all too familiar to see. It resulted in only angering Jeremy, though. Castiel shut his eyes with a grimace as Jeremy's weathered palm connected with Rachel's cheek. The slap stunned her, enough to stop her wriggling so he could get a tighter grip around her wrist. "Come on," Jeremy growled, impatient as she planted her feet, gripping her stuffed bear like a lifeline. He tugged, only partially successful in moving her. With a grumble, he picked her up and slung her carelessly over his shoulder. The bear she had been holding dropped to the ground in the process. Rachel's tiny hands balled into fists as she punched against Jeremy's back._

" _Please!" she screamed. "I'm not evil, I promise! Please, Daddy!"_

 _As Jeremy descended down the stairs with the child over his shoulder, Cathy's face paled. "Jeremy!" she snapped._

" _Quiet, woman," Jeremy snarled. "This needs to be handled once and for all."_

" _Please," Cathy humbly begged, clearly intimidated, "don't let them hurt her."_

 _Without another word, Jeremy snagged his keys and left the house with a slam of the screened door. Rachel's sobs intensified, then deafened as he loaded her into his station wagon, locking her into position by binding her hands around the door handle with bungee cords._

 _Castiel saw the edges of the image around him begin to fade inward at the corners. "Oh no," he muttered, retreating out of the memory and back into Rachel's presence of mind. He sighed in disappointment as the ashy clouds faded, the path into the memory vanished. His access was gone. Rachel was waking up._

Castiel returned to Rachel's and Sam's room, seeing her stir against Sam's hold. He quickly disappeared before she could see him. Questions lingered, the answers seemingly elusive. Who were Mister Kaye, and William Calder? Where was Capitilum Nine, where Jeremy had taken her? How did he have the location? And what did they do to Rachel when he arrived with her?


	52. Chapter 52

The next morning, Sam woke, sighing contently as he felt Rachel stir in his embrace. It felt like forever since he was able to just be with her in pure silence, forcing his fears down for the sake of the moment. As Rachel nestled her head against his chest, Sam rubbed her stomach. His lips parted as Robbie stirred within. It was something he didn't think he'd ever tire of, or not be amazed by. He watched as his son made Rachel's womb stretch and move. It seemed like he grew so much in such a short amount of time. Still, he knew the newborn would be so tiny, so innocent, so defenseless. "Please," he begged in barely a whisper, his fingers tracing over Rachel, "keep my family safe." He had no idea who he was talking to, but he had to try. "They don't deserve my curse." His peace was broken, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "Please. I'll do anything. Just … Don't take them from me."

Sam swallowed back the sour taste that rose in his throat, knowing his prayer of sorts was in vain. No one was listening. And even if they were, Rachel's fate was sealed. Her grace would keep her alive. Too much of it might also change her, and ultimately take her from him. Still, he had to protect her and Robbie. They would use just enough to heal her, and absolutely no more.

Rachel murmured as she stirred, slowly blinking her eyes open to see Sam's wet cheeks. Her brow creased, and she shifted to look into his eyes. "Sammy?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's okay," Sam replied, trying to force a smile as he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"Not, it's not," she insisted, feeling his body tense. She scanned his face, reaching up to brush pieces of hair from his eyes. "And it's alright to be scared. I sure as hell am."

"I'm fine," Sam assured. He tightened his embrace, gently pressing her head to his chest. "Just rest."

Rachel drew lines over Sam's abdomen with a sigh. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

Sam's nostrils flared a little. "Doing what?"

"Taking on this burden single-handedly. And taking on the guilt."

"If it weren't for me—"

"I'd be dead."

"Rachel—"

"No." Rachel propped herself up to look into his eyes. "You do this, every single time. You assume responsibility for every bad thing that happens."

Sam shook his head. "How can I not? I got you pregnant. I put you in this position."

"Stop," she snapped. "Sam, I'm a big girl. I chose to be with you, just as I chose to keep Robbie. Neither of those things are your responsibility alone."

Swallowing hard, Sam searched her eyes. "I can't lose you," he admitted, his voice shaky. "Not again. You're …" With a sniff, he looked away, his jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth. "I thought before I knew what love was," he continued softly. "And maybe, in some ways, I did. But I know I've never cared for someone like I do you, and I won't ever again." He flicked his gaze back to her, ignoring the rogue tear that escaped down his face. "I'd do anything for you. You're my world. You, Robbie … you're my heart, outside of my body." He shut his eyes momentarily. "But I'm cursed, Rachel. I've destined you both to die."

"Look at me," Rachel ordered, pulling him to sit up with her. Sam opened his eyes, but kept his focus on her womb. "Samuel Winchester, look at me." With a tightened mouth, Sam looked up at Rachel, hating himself more with each passing second. "You said so yourself, we're gonna be fine."

"Yeah, well, I lied," Sam growled, pushing up away from her and off the bed. He drew in sharp breaths through his nose, his heart racing with his anger. "You'll both die, because that's what happens to people I even remotely care about, let alone to you." He turned, eyeing her. "The only way to protect you is to take you from me, and it kills me to know that."

"We don't know what will happen if my grace is restored," Rachel countered. "You're making an assumption that I'll turn into some asshat like Michael. I'm half human, remember?"

His voice was exasperated. "You've got archangel blood, Rachel, and that kinda trumps the human part." Sam ran a hand over his mouth, seeing the surprise in her eyes. "We think your mother was an archangel—either Selaphiel, Jegudiel, or Barachiel." His arm flopped to his side. "Cas can determine more, though."

"How?" Rachel asked quietly.

"An internal examination. A search for any essence of your grace." Sam's hands found his hips as he paced a couple steps away. "It's not … it's not a fun procedure. And my vote is absolutely not, but …" He turned, looking her over as she sat on the bed, her tank top bunched over her belly. Her stomach was perfectly rounded, so beautiful and fertile. It held incredible powerful over him. "But it's not my choice. It's yours."

"So, these archangels—they're female?"

"In so many words."

"Why aren't they more widely known?"

"From what I've gathered, Rome was afraid of angel worship, not to mention liberating women, so their powers were buried, letting Michael and his brothers be the obvious focus. Only men means men retain power."

"Maybe that's why she fell," Rachel mused to herself, glancing away. "Maybe she wanted out."

"Maybe."

She returned her focus to Sam. "So, you're afraid my grace will change me, right?"

"I'm afraid of a lot of things right now," Sam replied. "What will happen to you after administering grace is my number one." He stepped closer, running a hand through his hair. His bare chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "I don't want Cas to lay a finger on you, but it's not up to me."

Rachel examined Sam, then looked down, her hand finding her womb as Robbie stirred. She could see Sam watching out of the corner of her eye, feeling the pressure of her decision with his stare. "Will it hurt Robbie, the examination?" she asked, looking up at Sam. She saw his pained look that accompanied the darkness under his eyes.

"I don't know," Sam admitted, wetting his lips. "Cas said it would be painful, but not damaging."

She nodded, sucking in a breath. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Are you sure?" Sam stepped to the mattress, sitting next to Rachel. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"I am." Her eyes searched his. "Sam, if I can protect Robbie by having my grace, then—"

"Robbie will be fine," Sam objected. "The grace is for _you._ To protect _you._ " He paused, swallowing hard with realization. "Rachel. You …" He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You don't care, do you? You don't care about living as a human?"

Rachel's nerves flared. "I do, but … my priority is Robbie, not myself."

" _You_ are _my_ priority right now. Robbie will be stronger than maybe even Jack. I'm not worried about him."

"He's our son!"

"And he needs his mother." Sam took her hands, holding them firmly. "Robbie will be alright. I'm not letting you sacrifice your humanity unnecessarily."

"The full ability of my grace will make him stronger. And he will need it for those who will come after him."

Sam studied Rachel, shocked. "You want a full restoration?"

"If it can help—"

"No! The grace is to heal you. Period. Only enough to repair any damage. Not for him. For _you_."

"You said it was my choice," Rachel reminded him through narrowed eyes.

"Not anymore."

"Sam—"

"No, dammit!" Sam growled. "I won't let you do this!"

"You can't stop me," Rachel shot back, yanking her hands away from his.

Sam scoffed. "Well, isn't this familiar. So ready to dish yourself up as a sacrifice."

"And like you aren't, Mister Demon Blood Sucker?"

" _That_ was different."

"How? How is it possibly different?"

"You were dying!"

"And Robbie—"

"No." Sam took her hands back into his. "Robbie will be fine, and I _know_ you know that. Completely different than my deal with Lucifer. So, why don't you tell me the _real_ reason why you'd like to go full-angel now?"

"Because I can protect _all_ of you," Rachel snapped. "Alright? There. I said it." She held Sam's gaze. "When Michael comes knocking, do you honestly think Jack will be enough? Being a nephilim is supposed to make me stronger than my parent. And we could really use another archangel's powers in our back pocket right now."

Bile rushed up Sam's throat. Words wouldn't come for several moments, only harrowing fear and vile anger. His pulse rose, his jaw tightening as he thought of all of the bloody, dangerous possibilities within the span of seconds. Her body mangled by Michael, tortured and battered. "Absolutely not," he growled, eyes watering with his rage. "Are you insane?"

"Because I want to protect my family and my friends?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Because you think I'd let you sacrifice yourself for us." His brow creased, his breath quickening. It was the closest he ever felt to a complete breakdown. "There's _no way in hell_ I'd let you put yourself in the line of fire like that."

"Sam—"

"No!"

"You can't—"

"The hell I can't!" Sam felt the panic build to a nearly uncontrollable height. He moved his grip to Rachel's forearms, hands shaking, body trembling. "You're _not_ doing this!" His fingers were like vices around her flesh. "You hear me, goddamnit? _You're_ _not doing this_!"

Rachel swallowed hard, wincing under Sam's grip. She knew she had scared him beyond belief, but he was still hurting her. "Let go of me," she warned, her voice low and even. Sam didn't reply. He loosened his grip a miniscule amount, fear still driving him as he scanned her eyes. All he could see was the woman he loved being gutted by an angel blade. He was back in the barn at Denning's farm, cradling her limp body, her blood he spilt soaking his shirt. "I mean it, Sam," she warned. "Let go of me _now._ "

With force neither of them expected, Sam was ripped apart from Rachel, thrown roughly backward by an unseen force. His broad body crashed through the bunker bedroom door, splintering the wood as he collided against the hallway wall with a crack. Horrified, Rachel stood from the bed, seeing Sam groan and attempt to stand. Again, he was forced down by the unseen power, his body sliding across the floor to the end of the hall. "Sam!" Rachel screamed, following him. As Sam was slammed into another wall, she paused, her hand finding her exposed stomach with shock and realization. "Robbie." Her son was defending her; he had sensed his mother's panic. If the unborn child with angel and demon blood was strong enough to take down his father from the womb despite the wardings, how strong would he be when he was born, or when he grew? "Robbie, please," she begged, seeing how Sam struggled against a grip around his throat. She stroked her stomach, covering it with her tank top. "It's Daddy. It's okay. Please. Let him go."

A few moments later, Sam collapsed to the ground, sucking in a breath with a raspy cough. His legs were shaky, but he managed to stand up just as Dean came flying down the hall. Dean looked between Rachel and Sam. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, gaping in surprise at the door.

"It's okay," Sam said before Rachel could speak, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He swallowed back a wince as he straightened, feeling the ache in his ribs from the impact.

"The hell it is," Dean argued. He examined Rachel, who ducked her eyes down.

"It was my fault," Sam replied, stepping forward. He tried to push down his nerves as Dean eyed him. "I got pissed. I overreacted."

Dean tilted his chin up a bit as he looked Sam over for a long moment. "Put some clothes on. We need to talk."

Watching Dean leave, Sam guided Rachel back into their room, minding the busted door. "Listen to me," he said, urgency in his voice, "we obviously need to talk about what happened, but for right now, we need to keep Robbie's power from everyone else."

Rachel blinked hard, trying to quell the surge of various emotions that ran through her. She was still pissed at Sam, but understanding of his fear regarding exposing Robbie's power. "Okay," she replied. She watched Sam dress, moving to get her own pants from her drawer. As she tugged them on, she felt like she was exerting considerably more effort than she was used to. Her stomach seemed like it had grown so much in just the span of a week. She was just about six months along, but her womb was ginormous, it seemed. Nearly like she was to term.

Lips parting, Rachel looked to Sam, whose back was turned to her. "Wait," she whispered, eyes wide, "if Robbie is technically a nephilim …" Her throat dried out. "Oh God!" she gasped as Sam turned to face her, pausing as he buttoned his shirt.

"What's wrong?" he asked, searching her eyes. He crossed to her, cupping her cheek. She looked pale. "Baby, talk to me."

"I'm almost six months pregnant."

"... I know."

"No, dammit!" Rachel felt the panic swirl within. "I'm almost _six_ months pregnant with a technical _nephilim,_ Sam."

It took a couple beats, but then Sam's expression shifted dramatically. Confusion was replaced by horror and fear. His hand slipped from her cheek, finding its way to cover his own mouth, burying the blatant terror he felt. "Fuck," he whispered.

Nephilim gestation was shorter by three months. Robbie was coming a lot sooner than planned. And he didn't have any grace to protect Rachel with.


	53. Chapter 53

Dean drummed his fingers on the maps table, eyeing Sam as he came into the room. He scanned his brother's knuckles, noting how the skin wasn't reddened or broken. If Sam busted the door without a weapon, his hands should've been snapped from the wrists. Dean's inspection moved upward, seeing how Sam's skin was paled. It wasn't because of his confrontation. Something else was very wrong. "Alright, you've got one chance here," Dean said, trying to keep his anger in check but failing. "First, you're going to swear on our mother you didn't touch Rachel, or so help me ..."

Sam's eyes widened. "You think I'd beat her?" he asked, both astonished and offended.

"That door was busted. You said, 'I overreacted.' Remember?"

"I'd _never_ hurt her," Sam snarled, nostrils flared.

"Then tell me what happened," Dean countered stiffly. "Because you sure as hell have some explaining to do."

With a swallow, Sam shut his eyes. "It's … It was Robbie. Rachel and I were arguing, and he got scared. He threw me through the door."

Dean stared at him. "You mean your unborn son? The maybe two pound, half-baked human inside your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Dammit, Sam! I thought the kid only had the vision shit."

"He … He has other things."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Psychokinesis. Super strength. Probably more."

"And you didn't think it was important to tell me about it?" Dean asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I was afraid of your reaction, like now," Sam hissed, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "Dean, listen to me. We've got bigger problems than this at the moment."

"Bigger than your boy bun being strong enough to toss _your_ giant ass through a thick, wood door?"

"Yes. It's Rachel."

"What about her?"

Sam's jaw ticked as he hesitated to answer. "She's nearly six months pregnant."

"...And?"

"And if she's a nephilim, then so is Robbie." Sam waited, seeing Dean fail to connect the dots. "She's almost at term, Dean!" he finally said through a harsh whisper. "Nephilim gestation is six months."

Dean's eyes rounded. "Oh shit. I didn't think of that."

"Neither did I, until Rachel noticed how much she had grown."

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, pacing away. "Wait a minute. Cas said he was human."

"Yeah, well I'd say judging from Rachel's size and his strength, he's nearly to term."

"Cas!" Dean called out. A moment later, Castiel appeared in the maps room. "You said Robbie was human, right?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded.

"See?" Dean said to Sam.

"But," Castiel interrupted, "so is Jack, partially."

Both Dean and Sam eyed Castiel. "So now you decide to let us know he's only _part_ human?" Sam scoffed.

"No," Castiel replied stiffly. "Look, nephilim detection isn't easy. Especially for a nephilim without grace. I felt the human part of him. I had no idea of the angelic blood, and I still don't read it."

"So she could be fine," Dean concluded.

"There's no way for me to know until the examination."

"Will it hurt them?" Sam asked, jaw ticking as he waited for Castiel's answer.

Castiel drew in a deep breath. "It won't be comfortable." He held up a hand as he saw Sam's reaction. "If Robbie does have powers, he will likely fight me during it. This will only prolong the pain for Rachel. We need to convince Robbie I'm not trying to hurt his mother. And that starts with a calm father."

Running a hand through his hair, Sam paced away with a grumble. How could he stand back and watch Rachel suffer like that? How could he convince Robbie it was the right thing to do when he didn't even know if it was himself?

Rachel tugged a hoodie tighter around herself as she came into the maps room, her expression pained as she met Sam's eyes. "Cas," she said softly, resting her hand on her stomach, "I'm ready."

Sam moved to her, gently taking hold of her shoulders as he blocked her from view. "Please," he whispered, "please …" He failed to finish, his throat drying out as he thought of what was to come.

Rachel stroked his cheek, seeing the anguish in Sam's eyes. "It'll be okay," she assured. "I need to do this."

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," Sam replied, rubbing her upper arms with his thumbs. "About earlier …"

"What's done is done," Rachel insisted. "I know you're scared, Sam. But I'll be okay." She cleared her throat, nodding down to her stomach suggestively.

"Right," Sam agreed, receiving her message. Success depended on his ability to convince Robbie of Rachel's safety. "I'll be right next to you."

They both turned, looking at Castiel and Dean. "Let's do this," Rachel said with squared shoulders.

Before she could let the worries take over, she slipped out of the room toward the sick bay. The three men followed, each scared by the possibilities, but none more than Sam. With tightly closed eyes, Sam took up the rear of the line as they processed toward the medical room. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides. The ache from Robbie's power remained in his body, rippling through him as he tensed his muscles. They would both survive her labor, Rachel and Robbie. He chanted the positive thought into his head with each step. His family would be fine. They had to be. He couldn't survive if they weren't.

When he entered the medical bay, he rushed to steady Rachel as she climbed into the examination chair. "Easy," he urged gently, seeing her wince. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, "my back just hurts."

Sam took her hand, stroking it. "Massage after this, 'kay?"

Rachel nodded, only half hearing him. She was far too focused on what was to come. Her eyes were glued on Castiel as he removed his trench coat and rolled up his sleeves. When the angel turned to face her, she instinctively squeezed around Sam's hand. "I'm right here," Sam whispered. "If you want him to stop, you tell him, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said, swallowing down her fear as Castiel moved to her other side. Dean was across from her leaning against the door, clearly in pain at the idea of what was to come.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked.

"As I'll ever be."

With a nod, Castiel drew in a deep breath, slowly reaching toward the very top of her stomach. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, and Sam felt his heart palpitate. His nerves flared as he watched Castiel's hand light up and disappear inside of her.

Rachel's scream pierced the air, and Sam's grip on her hand became nearly lethal. His stomach churned as he watched her grimace against the surface penetration, already feeling violent from watching not even ten seconds. Sweat beaded his brow, his pulse climbing at record speed. "Stop," Sam panicked, feeling ready to explode as Rachel cried out in pain.

"Sam!" Castiel barked. "You need to remain calm. You're not helping."

"Stop, dammit! You're hurting her!"

"Sammy," Dean interjected, "let him do his job, alright?"

"The hell with the job!"

"Sam," Rachel panted, opening her eyes to look into his. "I love you, but you need to go."

Sam's eyes widened. "I'm not leaving you."

Rachel sucked in a labored breath, her expression not one to be argued with. "Go now, Sam."

With a shaky arm, Sam released Rachel's hand, lingering momentarily to see her face scrunch up against Castiel's assault. Enraged, he left, nearly knocking Dean over as he bolted out of the room and slammed the door.

Pacing in the hall, Sam tugged on his hair, his eyes shut as he heard Rachel whimper and pant. He couldn't still himself. His entire being was aflame, molten hot with anger at Rachel's suffering. Sam couldn't erase the heavy load of blame that weighed him down, an inner voice nagging him to remind him how the entire situation was his fault, and his alone. Had he never chosen himself over her, she would've been safe. Or so his mind said.

Time passed through a sieve. Castiel's examination seemed to take hours, and there was only so much Sam could take hearing the woman he loved in agony. After a long, painful period of attempted calm, Rachel's shuddered cries and sniffing back tears muffled through the door finally pushed him over the edge. His fist collided with the wall in front of himself repeatedly. Streaks of blood painted the crumbled plaster, Sam growling through his knuckles tearing. Still, nothing would stop her screams. Nothing would take away her pain.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he heard Dean say behind him; Sam didn't stop until his brother latched onto his arm mid-swing. "Easy, little brother," Dean urged. He felt Sam's arm shake in his grasp. "Easy." Slowly, he lowered it, swallowing hard. Sam's fists were torn, the skin mangled. "She's done," Dean said gently. "Cas found it."

"Is she—"

"She's fine. She and Little Man are sleeping to recover. Cas is going to work on tracking with her essence."

"And Robbie? Did he fight?"

Dean sniffed. "A little. But I promise, they're both okay."

Sam panted, his throat raw and dry. "Never again," he vowed, his tone dark. He kept his focus on his own blood stains. "No one touches her again. _No one_."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean assured, loosening his hold.

With gritted teeth, Sam moved away from Dean and burst into the examination room. Sam barely resisted shooting Castiel a dirty look, coming to Rachel's side. He stroked her cheek, moving the hair from her eyes. She looked peaceful, but he knew what he heard. The pain had been vicious.

Without a word, Sam took her into his arms, his hands pained as he lifted her to his chest. His muscles felt weaker than usual, from how he beat the wall, he imagined. Still, she needed better than a chair, and nothing would stop him from giving it to her.

Sam carried her out of the room and down the hall. His stomach sick, he laid her in their bed. With a kiss to her forehead and a stroke over her stomach, Sam pulled away from Rachel, sighing heavily. He couldn't rest. The urgency of tracking down a grace strong enough for her was at the forefront. Running a hand through his hair, he paused, finally noticing how wrecked his hands were. It didn't matter, though. He had work to do.

Castiel looked up at Sam as he entered the library. "Your hands," he murmured, watching Sam sit across from him. Castiel reached out and touched them, healing them.

"Tell me it was worth it," Sam demanded, his tone dark.

"Sam—"

"Cas, I swear—if you put her through that, and you don't have anything—"

"I do," Castiel assured. He watched as Sam waited, his eyes narrowly focused on him. "Her lineage is most certainly from Barachiel, the archangel of blessings. She was in charge of the guardians."

Sam was still trying to bury his anger as he listened. "You mean, guardian angels?"

"Yes. Thousands of years ago, Barachiel had nearly 500,000 ministering angels attending her. She's also regarded as the angel of lightning, of which I see Robbie has inherited."

"What are you talking about?"

"His power is very unique, Sam. As he fought me, I felt it. An angel's powers are much like an angel's grace—individual to the angel. His are certainly in Barachiel's vein."

"But she fell? Why?"

"Story has it, she didn't feel that being in heaven allowed her to properly protect the humans. She wanted to lead from the ground, but our Father forbade it. She was passionate, though. Stubborn."

Sam smirked a little. "Sounds familiar."

Castiel nodded. "She attempted to split her time between heaven and earth, but was cast down when God found out. For a time, she continued to lead the guardians. But once they learned she had no grace, they selected a new commander. Barachiel disappeared, and no one had heard of her since."

Shutting his eyes, Sam leaned his head against his hands. "So, now what? I mean, archangel grace isn't exactly highly available. So what do we do?"

"I can track Rachel's essence to where she was born. In every place where an angel is born, the ground becomes sacred and infused with power. It might be enough to siphon out."

"But … She's a nephilim. Born to a graceless mother."

"It's a long shot, but it's our only one."

Sam leaned back in his seat, resting his hands in his lap. His mental gears spun as he thought about nephilims. "Gavin," he murmured, remembering Vance Matthew's nephilim contact in Topeka. Gavin was on the inside—he could possibly get information. And spare grace.

"Gavin?" Dean asked as he entered the library. "You mean, nephilim waiter Gavin?"

Sam nodded. "If anyone has a line on her grace, or potential matches, it'd be him."

"You mean the Gavin who cohorts with nephilim sex traffickers?" Castiel asked, brows wrinkled.

"He's not wrong, Cas," Dean countered. "He might be our best shot at something quick."

"Quick? Why quick?"

"Rachel is nearly six months along," Sam replied with a swallow.

"We don't know if it will be her term, though."

Sam stood with a huff. "Yeah, well, I can't risk it." He drew in a deep breath. "I'll go check it out." He looked to his brother. "Dean, keep an eye on her, please."

"You got it," Dean replied.

"Sam, you shouldn't go alone," Castiel argued as Sam began to leave the room. "Nephilims are quite powerful."

"I need you both here with her and Robbie," Sam countered, swiping up an angel blade from the rack. "I'll be fine."

Before Castiel could argue further, Sam was gone.


	54. Chapter 54

**We're getting close to the big moment! :-O**

 **Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!**

* * *

Sam parked the Impala in front of the diner in Topeka, head throbbing as he thought of Rachel nearing labor in a month's time. It was all so fast, so soon. Everything seemed to be rushed. No clothes, no diapers, no supplies of any kind. They didn't even have furniture. Not that furniture mattered in the big scheme of things. Grace for Rachel was his top priority. Everything else would have to wait, even if it really couldn't.

Sam exited the car, locking it and pocketing the keys. With a quick glimpse at his phone, Sam found one text from Dean:

 **Rach is still sleeping. Be careful, k? Don't do anything stupid. Info, then back here.**

Sam took a few seconds to type out a half-hearted reply:

 **Got it. Be sure to make her rest.**

Locking his phone, he tucked it into his jeans pocket, checking his angel blade and gun for the fifth time since stepping out of the car. Gavin was the most solid lead they had. Castiel might've been convinced that tracking Rachel's essence back to her place of birth was a solid option, but to Sam, it sounded like a long shot he now couldn't afford. Worse came to worse, he had come prepared to strong-arm some grace, even if it wasn't hers. Besides, he had a good chip to bargain with. He picked it up on the way. The transaction would be simple.

With a pat on the trunk of the car, Sam headed for the diner and opened the door, the bell attached jingling above him. A waitress with hot pink lipstick gave him a bright smile. "Just one?" she asked, batting her eyes as he sat at the counter.

Her question immediately made him remember the ring sitting back in his room in the bunker. It was white gold, double banded, and adorned with a round one carat diamond. The ring had taken every penny of three high-stakes pool hustles, Sam sealing the deal on a game of Double Or Nothing. Currently, it was nestled in a small black box lined with velvet, buried under his personal weapon collection in his bureau. Sam had wanted to put it on Rachel's finger for so long, but the timing was never right. "Just one," he replied, offering her a polite smile that shut the waitress down fairly quickly.

The waitress dropped off a menu, and Sam watched as she slipped toward the rear of the restaurant. He spotted the door to the back kitchen, watching it intently. He had called and verified that Gavin was working that shift, so now it was only a matter of time. He'd wait to approach him until he could secure him. The last thing Sam wanted or needed was for Gavin to up and ghost again.

Sam sipped the coffee he ordered, his mind spinning with worries and underlying excitement. His adrenaline was pumped, and he was pretty sure caffeine added to it was a terrible move. At the same time, his body ached with a resounding tiredness. It had been well over six months since he felt any semblance of relaxation. Rachel wasn't to blame at all. If anyone was, it was himself. They hadn't been able to catch a break of any kind, and it didn't seem like one was coming soon. Despite the stress, though, he was painfully excited about meeting his son. What would he look like? What would it feel like to hold him? To see him in Rachel's arms? Would Robbie know him as well as he seemed to know Rachel?

Sam caught a glimpse of a lanky man moving quietly to the coffee cups, watching as the waiter poured coffee in them and brought them to the far end of the counter. "Excuse me," Sam said, gaining the waiter's attention. "Mind if I get a refill?"

Gavin swallowed hard, his nerves not well concealed. "S-Sure." He brought the pot to Sam, who shifted in his seat as Gavin poured. "Sam Winchester. So, uh … What, um, brings you here?"

"Information," Sam said quietly.

"About your girlfriend." Gavin froze, not meaning to spill the beans so easily. He saw Sam's surprised reaction. "I mean, it's just … She's a …"

"How do you know about her?"

"Your girlfriend's the talk of the town. So is your boy."

"That so?"

"I mean, yeah. Whoever doesn't want her wants him."

Sam gave Gavin a cool smile, leaning in a little. "Here's the deal: You give me what I want, and I won't run my blade through you."

An air of cockiness flowed over Gavin. "You don't think I'll fight?"

"Nah," Sam said with a smirk. "Know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I've got your brother, Tony, bound in my trunk."

Gavin's eyes rounded. "No, you don't."

Sam pulled out the necklace he had taken off the nephilim before binding him with angel-proofing. "I do." He pulled it back as Gavin went to snatch it. "So, you've got one shot at this. Tell me where to find grace for her, or he dies."

"Huh." Gavin straightened, quiet for a moment. "'Kay. But I'm not talking here."

"Where?" Sam asked, eyes narrowed.

"Meet me out back in five minutes."

Hesitantly, Sam nodded, watching Gavin slip back into the kitchen. Taking out a wad of cash, Sam left the money for his coffee and exited the diner. He felt his angel blade as he stepped into the darkness. Desperation drove him forward. It was wrong, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the possibility for disaster. But he kept on course, eyes peeled.

His path took him toward the side of the diner, blade readied. He saw Gavin by the side door, and he headed toward him.

Only, he didn't make it. The world went dark as he was knocked out cold.

* * *

Dean paced the kitchen, taking long swigs of his beer as he checked his phone for the third time in a minute. Still, nothing from Sam. His mother and Bobby had resumed relocation efforts earlier that week, leaving the bunker empty except for himself, Sam, Rachel, Jack, and Castiel. Slamming his bottle down, he again dialed his brother's cell. The voicemail picked up for a fifth time. "Dammit, Sammy, answer your phone. Call me as soon as you get this."

Hanging up, Dean leaned on the counter and tossed his phone aside. It had been three hours, and not a word from his brother. And with Sam, no news was typically bad news. Maybe he just was on edge and not giving Sam enough credit, Dean thought. Or maybe not. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't ignore his gut—something wasn't right.

Castiel approached Dean quietly through the doorway, hesitant. "Anything?"

"No," Dean growled. He sighed heavily, eyeing the bottle in front of him on the counter. "I need to go after him."

"You can't leave Rachel," Castiel argued.

Dean turned and faced the angel with a point. "Um, yeah I can. Because gigantor needs his ass bailed out, more than likely, so _you're_ going to watch her."

"Jack can watch her. I will go with you."

Dean shook his head. "No offense to Jack, but he nearly blew her up the last time he tried to help."

"Dean—"

"Just … Just stay here. I need to make sure someone experienced with grace is watching her."

As Dean readied to leave the kitchen, a raspy voice caught his attention. "Sam?" Both men watched in surprise as Rachel slowly stepped toward them. Sweat beaded on her brow, her breathing labored.

"Rach?" Dean asked, moving to her. His lips parted as she looked up at him. She looked sick.

"Where's Sam?" she asked.

Dean watched as she bit her lip and swallowed back a moan. "Topeka," he murmured, panic building within, his answers nearly mechanical.

"Why?"

"Trying to get intel out of Gavin."

Rachel shook her head. "Gavin … From the diner?"

Dean nodded, but wasn't really listening. "Not important right now. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Wiping her brow, Rachel began to speak, but cowered over, her hand on her stomach. Dean rushed to her side, supporting her as she gasped. "I think …" She squeezed around his hand, Dean yelping in surprise at her strength. "I think my water broke in bed."

Eyes wide, Dean felt his pulse stop. "What?! No, no, no! He's early!"

"Tell him that!" Rachel grumbled through gritted teeth.

Castiel stepped in front of her, brow creased as he examined her with a gentle touch to her womb. "She's right, Dean. Her labor has begun. It's likely Robbie's way of trying to protect her after the examination."

"So, stop it!" Dean growled to him.

"I can't. It's not possible."

"I need …" Rachel began, then cried out in pain against a contraction.

Dean held her upright, his heart racing. "You need to breathe," he urged, grabbing a rag behind him and wiping her brow. "Bed. Now." He guided her to hers and Sam's room, eyes wide as he saw the soiled sheets. "Cas," he called out, wrinkling his nose. The angel came in quickly, snapping his fingers and producing clean linens. Dean led Rachel toward the freshly made bed as she huffed. "Easy, kiddo, breathe. In and out."

"Why didn't he tell me he was going?" Rachel asked, wincing as she laid down.

"You were asleep."

"Doesn't matter."

"He, uh … Shit, you know how Sammy gets."

"Yeah. He gets like an idiot."

Dean shrugged. "You're not wrong." He looked to Castiel. "How much time does she have?"

Castiel drew in a shaky breath. "It could be anywhere between eight to twelve hours. Maybe more. We have to monitor her dilation."

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "No. Uh-uh. Not it."

"Dean, I … I can't. You should …"

"Hell no!"

"Oh my God, both of you—stop being bitches about it," Rachel growled. "Someone take off my pants and panties."

Both men looked at each other with wide eyes. Dean gulped. "Uh …"

Rachel eyed them. "I know you both have _plenty_ of experience." Castiel and Dean hesitated. "Do it!" she ordered, her tone scaring the two into action.

Dean and Castiel scurried to do as told, both trying to avoid seeing anything as they removed her clothes from her bottom half, covering her with a sheet. Castiel peeked under it, examining her. "Dean, I'm guessing she's about three centimeters."

With a deep breath, Dean nodded. "Alright." A lump formed in his throat as he watched her labored breathing. "Cas," he barked, tightening his jaw, "take as much pain from her as you can while I'm gone."

"No," Rachel pleaded, snagging Dean's hand, "please, don't leave."

"I have to, sweetheart." Dean smoothed Rachel's hair from her eyes as Castiel laid his hand on her womb. He saw a sense of partial relief flow over her. "I'm going to bring that giant back here to help you do this, okay?"

Dean gave her a quick kiss to her forehead. "You protect her with your life," he warned Castiel stiffly, pointing at the angel. "You hear?"

Before Castiel could answer, Dean moved to leave, only to be blocked by Jack. "No," Jack argued softly, brow furrowed as he saw Rachel's struggle. "Stay, Dean. I'll find Sam."

"Jack, you can't—"

"It's suicide for you," Jack interrupted. He eyed him. "Stay with her." With a deep breath, he handed Dean a vile. A small amount of blue grace glowed within. "And give her this."

"No, Jack," Rachel whispered, sweat covering her brow. "Take it back. You'll weaken yourself."

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "This should be enough until I bring Sam back with more."

Dean reluctantly took the vile, gripping Jack's arm. With a small nod of appreciation, he uncapped it, holding it in front of Rachel's mouth. The grace slowly traveled from the glass into her mouth, Rachel sucking it in involuntarily. She gasped as she finished, her eyes glowing to a light blueish purple color. Sitting up a little, Rachel panted, looking at the three men in front of her. A coolness flowed through her veins, light traveling within each inch of her body. Calm flowed over her, the grace seeming to slow her contractions a bit. A milky haze filled her sight and mind, everything just a bit more smudged than before, yet somehow clearer than it had ever been.

Blinking slowly, Rachel focused on Jack. "Bring him back," she said with an evenness that surprised Dean and Castiel, as if her voice wasn't her own.

Still, Jack wasn't surprised. He smiled a little. "I will."

Dean turned his focus back onto Rachel. "You okay?" he asked, uneasy as he looked her over. She seemed stiff, calculated. Had the small amount of Jack's grace changed her?

Rachel nodded. "No," she countered herself in a whisper. "But he is. He's so strong, Dean. I don't know if I can ..."

"You listen to me," Dean told her, taking her hand, "you're gonna be just fine. You hear?"

She heard him, but she didn't believe him in the slightest. "Dean, he's—"

"You'll be _fine,_ " Dean insisted. "You, Robbie … You're both gonna be fine."

There was no way Rachel could believe him, though. Not with the way she felt Robbie's power pulling through her body. "Please," she begged Jack, "just … Bring Sam home."

Jack gave her a nod, disappearing.


	55. Chapter 55

Sam blinked his eyes open, his surroundings coming into focus. It was dark and damp, his shirt and jeans wet, and he wasn't sure if from water or blood. His wrists were bound behind himself; he was seated in a chair, ankles bound around the legs of it. Head throbbing, Sam tried to see his surroundings, the atmosphere dark enough that he couldn't make out anything definitive.

"Good, you're awake," a voice said behind him. It didn't belong to Gavin. Sam kept his focus on the ground as he listened. "You Winchesters—you're predictable, you know that?" The man stepped closer. "Did you think we'd just turn over some high level grace because you came in half-cocked with a blade?" He laughed. "It's pathetic, really." His voice lowered as he neared Sam, pausing closely behind him. "But love makes you do stupid things, doesn't it?"

Sam refused to bite the bait, but it didn't piss him off any less. He chewed on his inner cheek, trying to keep calm. He couldn't afford to play the game.

"See," the man continued, pacing around slowly to Sam's front, "we caught wind of your little secret six months ago, when the boy was first conceived. Which, by the way, is forbidden. Not that you would care about virtue. Your existence alone is an abomination."

"You say that like it's the first time I've heard it," Sam said with a small, unimpressed scoff.

"Believe me, I know it isn't. Anyway, it wasn't until your son grew stronger that I recognized the lineage of his power. We've been waiting for the opportune moment, but you've kept them well guarded. Bravo." The angel eyed him; Sam couldn't really make out his face. "But, we picked up a bit of chatter on angel radio earlier. Well, more like a bit of agony." He chuckled. "Boy, can your girl scream. Bet she's fun in the sack."

"What do you want?" Sam snarled, unable to help his anger while testing the bonds. They were tight. He wasn't sure if he could slip them.

The man smirked. "You know what we want."

"Not happening."

"Oh, believe me, I came into this expecting a long, long string of negotiations. I know Sam Winchester doesn't give up easily."

"You have a name?" Sam challenged with a cocky smirk. "Or should I just call you Dickweed?"

The man stepped closer, the single bulb above same partially illuminating his face. He was middle-aged, his years weathering the amber skin around his eyes, and his salt and pepper hair emphasizing it. Still, he looked capable—broad-framed, dressed in a three-piece suit, muscles to spare. "Pahaliah," he said before knocking Sam across the jaw with his fist. "Mind yourself, boy."

Face throbbing with deep ache from the angel's strength, Sam glared back at him, then spit out the saliva and blood that collected in his cheek to the side. "And let me guess—you worked under Barachiel?"

Pahaliah have a small nod. "Not bad, ape. Yes, I was her second in command. She _was_ a wonderful leader. Bit of a hothead, but none of the other sisters rivaled her. I lost a bit of respect for her, though, when she decided to lie to half a million of her brothers and sisters to indulge her own disgusting pleasures." He paced with a sigh. "As a leader in the Order of Thrones, and the Bearer of Virtuosity, I can't very well sit back and let her lineage continue."

"So killing them is more virtuous than letting them live?"

"Bigger picture, Sam," Pahaliah corrected. "See, you can't help but feel bound to Rachel because of your shortcomings as a human. I, on the other hand, view her as a loose end that can finally be tied." He held up a finger. "The boy, though. Mmm. Now _he_ can be molded, unlike his mother. The young nephilim mind is quite powerful, but still impressionable. Introduced to the right angels, and his humanity could be completely eradicated."

Hearing the angel talk about Rachel and Robbie like commodities drove Sam wild. He forced himself to even his breathing, twitching his fingers within his confines to assess a weak spot. He found one slightly looser section, and slowly began to shift his fingers toward it."Good luck with that."

"Won't need it," Pahaliah shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "See, you'll give me what I want, because you won't be able to help yourself."

Sam's nostrils flared. "I'm not giving you shit."

"You will."

"Eat me."

Sam growled after Pahaliah punched him again, blood from his lip painting his chin. "I was hoping to avoid the messy road, but I suppose you require it. Last chance to keep this clean."

"Beat me all you want. Torture me. Fillet me. I'll die before I give you anything."

Pahaliah nodded. "Oh, believe me, I know." He looked over Sam to a man behind him with a small nod. "I know you'd easily choose to die the slowest, most gruesome death I could dish up for you. The question is, will you let someone else die in your place?"

Sam's heart raced, hearing scuffled steps and clank of chains. His stomach dropped as two broad men dragged Mary and Bobby to stand in front of him. "You son of a bitch," he snarled, seeing Mary's marred face. Mary swallowed hard, keeping a stern look as she fought being so close to the angels. Bobby didn't look any better—he was sporting a sizeable black eye and a busted lip, blood painting his beard.

"Let's try this again," Pahaliah said, smiling. "Where are they?"

Sam remained quiet, though his insides were screaming. He kept his eyes locked on his mother's, trying to tell her how sorry he was through his silence. She seemed to understand, even giving him a slight nod. It didn't help his festering guilt, though.

Pahaliah pulled out an angel blade, quickly slicing across Mary's cheek. She grimaced, and Sam lashed against his bindings. "I'll kill you!" he shouted.

"Tell me where they are, and no one will get hurt," Pahaliah countered, waiting for Sam's response. Still, Sam refused to answer. With fluidity, Pahaliah shoved the angel blade through Bobby's side. Bobby gasped, sputtering as the angel ripped it back out, the silver covered in blood.

Sam growled in rage, fighting his bonds with fervor. "You're dead!" He watched Bobby fall to his knees as he held his side.

"Last chance before I gut your mother," Pahaliah smirked.

"Sam," Mary said sternly, "let him."

"Mom," Sam whispered, tears flooding his eyes as Bobby coughed on the ground.

"Let him," Mary repeated, eyeing her son. "Protect them. It's not your fault." She was willing to die, and even the thought alone made Sam violently ill.

"Not his fault?" Pahaliah scoffed. "This _thing_ you call your son impregnated a nephilim with demon seed. He has created the most disgusting creature that could ever be. Humanity itself could cease to exist because of your son, but it's not his fault?"

"My son has done more good than any of your kind ever has."

Pahaliah laughed, nearly cackling. "And I was made to protect you," he mused. "No wonder. It's quite obvious free will has done nothing to improve your kind's intelligence." He looked to Sam, resting the blade against Mary's throat. "Last chance."

"Close your eyes!" came a shout from the rear of the room. A stark light burst into the room, flooding it as a ringing noise grew in volume. The angels froze, trapped under the binding power of it. Sam, Mary, and Bobby squeezed their eyes shut, cowering in pain against the piercing noise and blinding illumination. A burst rippled through the room, the angels present crying out in pain as they and their vessels were destroyed.

The room went dark, silence befalling them as the storm finally ceased. Sam was the first to open his eyes, immediately seeing Jack heal Bobby and Mary, freeing them from their chains. "Jack," he breathed, the tears he had kept back falling.

"Sam," Jack said as he turned. He snapped his fingers and the ropes fell free. Sam quickly stood, rubbing his wrists. "It's Rachel."

Pausing, Sam stared at Jack. "What about her?"

"She's … She's in active labor."

Sam's eyes rounded. "What?!"

"We need to go back," Jack insisted.

Heart racing, Sam looked down at Pahaliah's body. It was his best shot at grace, but the angel was dead. He had nothing. His stomach wrenched, his hand finding his mouth to cover the utter helplessness he wore. "I … I need grace," he stammered in a whisper. Panicked, he checked the dead vessels, hoping for even just a drop of grace through a hint of life.

"Son," Bobby said quietly, stepping forward, "you should be there with her … while you can."

Sam stood from his crouching position and glared at Bobby. "She's _not_ dying."

"All I'm saying is—"

"And I'm saying she's not going _anywhere_."

"I gave her some of my grace before I left," Jack offered. "It might be enough."

"How did you find us, anyway?" Mary asked Jack.

"It's possible to locate those who've prayed to me."

"'Some' isn't enough," Sam barked. He paused, softening a bit. "I'm grateful for what you've given her, but I need more. I need the entirety of an angel."

"Sam," Mary urged gently, resting her hand on Sam's forearm, "Rachel needs you _right now_." She searched her son's eyes, trying to convey the urgency of the moment, along with the bitter reality.

Sam turned away from the others, his stomach in knots as he thought about what was to come. He was destined to watch her die, without being able to do anything about it. Tears wet his cheeks, and he swiped them away with an angry hand. He had failed her. Still, they were right—Rachel needed him. "Take us back," he whispered, facing Jack.

In the blink of an eye, they all disappeared.

* * *

Rachel bit down on Sam's folded leather belt, squeezing her eyes shut. The contractions were close, and had tripled in intensity. It was nearly time to push. She could feel it, somehow. Motherly instinct, she assumed. Her body felt like it was being separated from Robbie's at a molecular level. Her son's strength was frightening. Yet, she had resisted crying. Somehow, it felt like she couldn't in Sam's absence. She had to remain calm for Robbie.

"Rachel," Castiel murmured, rising from examining her under the sheet, "you're going to have to start pushing."

With a shuddered breath, she nodded. Sam was nowhere to be found, so it seemed. And Robbie wouldn't wait.


	56. Chapter 56

Dean came back into the room, pocketing his phone. He saw Rachel's expectant look, sadly giving her a shake of his head in reply. Coming to her side, he wiped her brow with the damp cloth from his nightstand, taking her hand. "We'll find him," he vowed, his heart breaking as he saw the fear in her eyes.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, gaining his attention, "she will need to start pushing. She's fully dilated."

"Do you know what the hell you're doing?" Dean challenged, feeling utterly incapable.

"Not really," Castiel admitted. "But the child won't wait until one of us graduates with a medical degree. She's giving birth _now_."

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. Castiel was right. It scared the shit out of him. He knew zero about childbirth, and even less about nephilims giving birth to a nephilim with demon blood. They didn't have a choice, though. "Alright," he said, drawing in a deep breath, "let's—"

A quick burst of light shone in the room, Jack, Sam, Mary, and Bobby appearing through the flash. Dean's lips parted, relieved but concerned as he saw the dried blood on three out of the four.

Sam bolted to Rachel's side, taking the belt from her teeth and showering her with kisses. Rachel let go, her tears clouding her vision as Sam covered her face with his hands and lips. "Shh," Sam urged, cradling her cheeks as he knelt next to her, "it's okay. You're gonna be fine."

"Sam," Rachel shuddered, grimacing as a contraction rolled through her.

"Shh, breathe, baby girl," Sam coached, drying her forehead. He looked to Mary and Bobby, who immediately took up leadership roles.

"Get clean towels," Bobby ordered Dean. "And you—boil some water with your angel juice, quick," he said to Castiel. "Jack, stay close for pain relief. Sam, where's your sharpest knife?"

"That drawer, at the bottom," he managed with a nod to it, his breath shaky as he began to feel the panic take over. He shoved it down, watching Bobby raid his stash. Bobby yanked the thick, heavy blade from the bottom of pile. Still, neither he or Sam noticed the small black box that was uncovered and tossed from the drawer in the process. It landed on the floor, remaining there while the others milled about.

Bobby withdrew the blade from its sheath, examining it. "This will do," he said.

"Okay, Rachel," Mary coached, looking up at her from her position between Rachel's legs, "we're going to start to push. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to give me a good, long push until I say. Okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Okay." Feeling Jack's hands rest on her shoulder, she drew in a shaky breath and gripped Sam's hand. Sam covered it with his other, running his thumb over her skin. Her body tensed, she waited for the rolling pain to sweep up her body until it gripped her inside. She cried out as she focused on using her muscles to push, the feeling more than foreign.

"Good!" Mary encouraged as Rachel gasped and let go. "Good. Now breathe. In and out."

Sam held her hand tightly, feeling helpless as he watched Rachel's pain through her continued pushing. He had hoped that by the time this moment came, he'd have a full bottle of grace to counteract Robbie's power. But he didn't. All he had was whatever Jack had managed to siphon off of himself. Was this the last time he'd ever see her alive? Terror built within, realizing that these raw, beautifully scary moments were more than likely the end. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be.

The pushing seemed to last for nearly an hour, Sam pained as he watched Rachel's determined fight. Her hair was chaotic, pieces stuck to her sweaty forehead. Her bottom lip was swollen from biting it. Her face creased with each push, wrinkling her nose. She was utterly beautiful. "You're amazing," he whispered into her ear as she rested for a moment. Rachel didn't audibly reply, just searched Sam's eyes for a moment before Mary coached her through yet another push. "You're mine. And I love you so much. You're going to be fine."

Rachel swallowed, panting as she listened. "Sam …"

"Mine," he repeated. "Always. You're not alone. I'm right here."

Screaming through another monstrous push, the world around her became a blur to Rachel. She heard Sam whispering love into her ear, the chaos of those around her, the ringing of Castiel's and Jack's attempts at healing her, and Mary's demands at the foot of the bed. She saw Dean's round, green eyes, Bobby's wiry beard, Jack's creased brow, and the white fill her eyes more with each push. Her heart palpitated, alternating between racing and slowing, each time leaning more to each extreme. Her vision was murky, light fading ever so slowly as their voices piled into one big mess of sound.

"Push!" Mary shouted.

Sam kissed Rachel's damp cheek. "I love you."

"He's resisting me!" Castiel growled.

"Me as well," Jack added.

"Rach!" Dean called out, desperate. "She's slipping!"

"No!" Sam pleaded. "Fuck! No! Heal her _now_!"

"I can't," Castiel stammered.

"I'm trying, but Robbie is fighting me!" Jack quivered.

"We need to get the baby out _now_!" Mary ordered.

"Use as much of your juice as you can," Bobby demanded of the angels.

With a gasp, Rachel's eyes flashed open. "Oh God," Sam breathed, agonized as he saw how pale she was. "Baby girl, please. Please hold on. Just a little more. You can do it. You'll be fine."

She couldn't do it, though. She knew the next push would free Robbie enough for Mary, but kill her. Leaning her head to the side, she looked at Sam with as much of a smile as she could. "I love you," she whispered, her cheeks wet from tears.

Sam gripped her hand tighter, devastated as he searched her eyes. "Marry me," he whispered back.

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"Marry me."

"Sam, I'm dying."

"No, you're not. Marry me," he repeated with gentle firmness.

Lips parted, she nodded. Her response was barely audible. "Yes."

Sam covered Rachel's mouth with his own, his body racking with sobs as he tasted her. Rachel felt the contraction come, but delayed the push, indulging in one last kiss with Sam. "Take care of him," she whispered against his mouth as they parted.

"You're not going anywhere," he argued, stroking her hair from her face. It was midnight silk between his fingers.

"Sam, promise me."

"Rachel—"

"He's a good boy," Rachel continued as firmly. "He's good like his daddy."

"No," Sam said, sniffing back as many tears as he could as he stroked her cheek. "He's perfect, like his mommy."

Somewhere in the haze, Rachel could hear Mary's urgings, her pleas to push Robbie out so he didn't die. "I love you, Sammy," she said, searching his hazel eyes.

"I love you. You're mine, baby girl. Always and forever mine."

She smiled. "Yes, sir."

Before he could speak, Rachel grimaced and pushed with everything she had, nothing left to give but her life.

An infant's cry pierced the air, joining the madness of voices and sounds. Revival attempts were made, but all for naught. Still, it was demanded repeatedly by Sam in utter desperation and despair. New, powerful life emerged with strength and vibrancy, and unjust death lingered in its shadow, consuming the joy, painting it with thick sorrow.

Sam barely saw Robbie's tiny body as Bobby cut the cord, and Mary swaddled him, cleaning the fluids and substances from his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. He buried his face into Rachel's motionless shoulder, gripping her soft body as he sobbed in abandon.

His son was finally here. And his lover was gone.

* * *

Nearly an hour passed, Robbie miraculously falling to sleep after being soothed by Mary. Bobby made Dean help him make a makeshift bed out of linens for the baby in Mary's room next to Sam's, while Castiel examined him, soothing his hunger with the touch of his hand. "He needs formula," Castiel murmured to Mary, who was gathering the dirty linens into a pile.

Mary looked down at the peaceful newborn. "Is Sam …?"

"Still with Rachel," Castiel admitted. He glanced back at the door. "He's devastated."

Pausing, basket in hand, Mary exhaled deeply. "As anyone would be." She looked at Castiel. "Is Robbie …?"

"He's extremely healthy. It seems as though the bulk of Jack's grace fed him rather than Rachel. But the human mother is designed that way."

Dean peeked into the room through the half open door, eyes red. "How's Little Man?" he asked quietly.

"Sleeping," Mary said with a small smile.

"Good." Dean swallowed hard, still shaken. "Has Sam seen him yet?"

"He won't leave Rachel's side," Castiel replied softly.

With a nod, Dean took a step backward. "I'll go talk to him."

Before he could hear Mary object, Dean left, his heart heavy as he paused in front of Sam's door. Twisting the knob, Dean hesitantly let himself in. His stomach dropped as he saw his brother laying next to Rachel's still body, stroking her face. It was more than heartbreaking. "Sammy," he managed, his voice breaking. "You should … You should meet your son."

Sam didn't move, his focus fixed on Rachel's shut eyes. "I can't, Dean."

"He needs his father."

"I know." Sam sniffed back his tears. "I … I can't face him."

Dean covered his mouth. Sam's pain was gut-wrenching. "He needs you," Dean repeated gently. "You know Rach would want that."

He half expected Sam to lash out. Instead, Sam let more tears come, silently considering his brother's words. "Is he sleeping?"

"Yeah, in Mom's room."

A few long moments passed. Sam pressed a kiss to Rachel's cheek, whispering something Dean couldn't hear into her ear. It took everything Dean had not to collapse from the weight of his grief for his brother.

Sam slowly rose from the bed, looking down at Rachel's body. As he turned and left, Dean gave him space, his balled up fist pounding on the door after his brother left. His tears flowed freely, his muscles tense as he grieved. "Why?" he asked no one in particular. "Huh? Why?!" Dean punched the door, swiping at his tears.

Down the hall, Sam approached Mary's room, his stomach swirling as he saw Mary and Bobby pause as they exited. "Sam," Mary whispered, stroking her son's tear-soaked cheek.

Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek, giving Bobby a nod of appreciation as he straightened. Passing them, Sam twisted open the door, peeking into the mostly darkened room. A soft flicker of candles illuminated the shelf across from the makeshift bed, casting a bit of warm light. It didn't stretch very far, though.

Twisting the knob shut, Sam moved closer to the bed, squinting as he tried to see Robbie. His brow wrinkled, his heart stopping as he finally saw the entirety of the bed:

It was empty. Robbie was gone.


	57. Chapter 57

Pulse climbing, Sam's eyes darted around the room. His son wasn't in his bed. Was this some kind of sick joke?

A rustling and a scraping sound made Sam freeze in his tracks. His breath came in pants as he listened, hearing the small noises from the corner across from the makeshift bed. Wetting his lips, Sam took up a candle, stepping toward the sound.

His hand shook; he nearly dropped the light when he saw a blue glow in eye shapes appear through the darkness. "Robbie?" Sam breathed, stepping a hair closer. Had his son grown rapidly, like Jack had?

He squatted down within arm's reach, holding up the light. It illuminated Robbie's face—one of a boy of nearly four years old. The boy's eyes were exactly his own, but the green hue was of his brother's. His hair was thick and dark like Rachel's, but shaggy like his own. His small pink lips were parted under his tiny nose, a dimple like his own resting in his chin. He was just as he dreamt him six months ago. "Robbie," Sam said in disbelief. He saw the boy's inherent fear. "It's okay. You're okay, I promise."

The little boy looked into Sam's eyes. "Daddy," he said with confidence.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, Robbie." He swallowed, seeing the underlying fear in his son's eyes. "You don't need to be afraid."

"I need to protect Mommy," Robbie whispered.

It broke Sam's heart. He set the candle on the floor. "No, you don't."

"Because you will?"

His throat dried out. "Because … Mommy is in heaven now."

Robbie's brows furrowed. "No, she's not."

Reasoning with his preschool son was the last thing he thought he'd do when he came into the room, but Sam remained patient. "Robbie, Mommy is—"

"She's _not_ ," Robbie argued indignantly. "I need to grow more to keep her safe."

"No," Sam said quickly, holding up his hand. He couldn't bear the thought of missing more of his son's life. It was bad enough he barely saw him as a baby. "Just … stay this way. Please."

Robbie pursed his lips as he crouched on his knees. "Okay. I'm cold, Daddy," he admitted.

It was then that Sam realized Robbie wasn't wearing clothes. Quickly, Sam stripped off his blue flannel shirt he wore over his tee shirt. "Come here," he encouraged gently. He swallowed as he saw Robbie in brighter light. He was beautiful, innocent, precious. Sam helped his son into it, wrapping it around him. "There," he said, feeling his eyes well with tears as he looked at the boy in the giant shirt. Rachel would've loved to see him.

Wordlessly, Sam drew Robbie into his arms. He was so small, but strong. Robbie clung to him with a fierce grip, one of unnatural power for such a little boy. Sam allowed himself a long moment of silent tears as he stroked his son's back. "Shh, I got you," he murmured, giving him a kiss, lifting him up as he stood. He tangled his fingers into Robbie's hair. It was midnight silk, just like Rachel's. "You hungry?" Robbie nodded against Sam's shoulder. "Okay, buddy. Let's get you some food."

Sam balanced Robbie in one arm and opened the door, light from the hallway flooding over them both. He squinted his eyes, trying to adjust to it with a pause as Robbie buried his face into Sam's broad shoulder. "Sammy?" he heard Dean gasp. Sam blinked hard, focusing on his shocked brother as he approached.

"He's, uh, he's hungry," Sam managed.

"He's … a little boy."

Sam nodded. "He was afraid for Rachel, so he grew to protect her."

"Uncle Dean?" Robbie asked, lifting his head from Sam's shoulder.

Dean gaped at his nephew. The boy was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Hey, little man," Dean smiled, still in disbelief.

"Daddy," Robbie asked, looking back at Sam, "can I have some pie with Uncle Dean?"

Sam laughed, the joy of his son mixing with the rawness of Rachel's death. His head was all over the place. "Sure."

"I wanna see Mommy too," Robbie requested, his chubby fingers playing with Sam's hair.

"Robbie," Dean said gently, "Mommy is—"

Somehow, Robbie managed to fluidly escape Sam's hold, looking up in satisfaction at the two men. "I'll be right back," he said confidently.

Before Sam could stop him, Robbie disappeared, a small flap of wings echoing behind him. "Dammit," he muttered, darting down the hall after him toward his room.

Dean followed closely behind, unable to wrap his mind around Robbie's sudden growth. "So, he's got wings."

"Apparently."

Sam burst into his room, seeing Robbie kissing Rachel's cheek. As he was about to stop his son, Robbie left her side and started pushing a small model car across his desk.

"Robbie, you ..." Sam swallowed hard as he approached his son, squatting down to his eye level. "Mommy is ..." The words got stuck in his throat. "Mommy is in heaven."

"No she's not," Robbie said matter of factly, still playing with the car on the desk top.

"Robbie-"

"Sam," Dean whispered, gaining his brother's attention. He nodded to Rachel.

Sam turned to her and gasped, seeing her stir. "Oh my God," Sam shuddered, rushing to Rachel's side. He sunk to his knees, his hand stroking her cheek as she roused awake. Her eyes fluttered, and she moaned softly as she moved.

She was alive.

"Baby? Rachel, can you hear me?" Sam's hands ran over her, his heart stopping as the color returned her face. He laughed in pure shock and joy as she slowly turned her head to her right to look at him.

"Sammy?" she murmured, brow wrinkled.

"Oh God, Rachel," Sam shuddered, pressing kisses over her face and on her lips. Fresh, abundant tears rolled down his face as he clung to her. "I … I lost you. You …"

"I died," Rachel finished. "Sam." Her brow creased. "Please don't tell me you made a deal."

"No," he assured her, unable to stop touching her. "It … I think it was Robbie."

"Robbie?"

"I think he … I think he resurrected you."

"Sam, Robbie is a newborn. He's …" She paused, her eyes resting on Robbie's back as the boy hunched over, playing on the ground. "Oh my God, Sam," she whispered, shocked. "What happened?" She tried to sit up, freezing as she winced in pain.

"Easy," Sam urged. "Cas! Jack!" he shouted over his shoulder. He caught sight of Robbie in his peripheral, seeing the boy contentedly pushing the car across the floor.

Castiel and Jack both appeared instantly, each joining Dean in his stunned look as they saw Rachel. "Sam?" Castiel asked, moving closer to the bed, brow arched. "Did you make a deal?"

"No," Sam assured. "I didn't. Please. Heal her."

As Castiel laid a hand on Rachel, Jack squatted near Robbie. "Hello," Jack said with a smile.

"Hi, Uncle Jack," Robbie said, showing him the car he stole from Sam's desk. "It's a Mustang."

"Sam?" Rachel asked after seeing the boy, sitting up when Castiel was done healing her.

Sam ran his hand through her hair. "He … He grew up, to protect you. But I told him he doesn't need to be afraid anymore. And to stop growing fast."

Eyes wide, Rachel stared at Robbie. "Oh my God."

"I know."

"He's …" Robbie faced his mother, a wide smile spreading across his face. "He's beautiful."

Dean approached the bed, speechless as he looked down at Rachel. "Hey, kiddo," he managed, wiping away his tears. He sighed as Rachel eagerly embraced him, shuddering in unexpected relief. Kissing her cheek, he pulled away and nodded to Robbie. "He's perfect," Dean said, his pride over his nephew undeniable.

"Daddy, do you have a real car like this?" Robbie asked, waiting expectantly.

Sam nodded, the joy overwhelming. "There's one in the garage."

"Cool!" He smiled at Rachel, his sparkling green eyes wide. "Mommy, can I go have pie with Uncle Dean? Please?"

Rachel's jaw was slack. The boy acted as if she hadn't died, and as if he knew everyone already so well. _Because he does_ , she realized to herself. All this time, he had been learning about his family while in her womb. And he restored her life with a simple touch. _He doesn't realize how powerful he is._ "Sure, baby," she whispered, watching as Sam's shirt draped over Robbie's small body like a tent.

Giddy, Robbie squeezed his hand around the car. "Can I play with this, Daddy?"

"It's yours," Sam smiled, watching as Dean scooped the boy up.

"Come on, little man," Dean said. "Let's go eat some pie."


	58. Chapter 58

It wasn't long before Mary and Bobby appeared, each shocked as the others had been over both Rachel and Robbie. Sam, though, couldn't stop smiling. His cheeks hurt from his happiness, relief and joy lighting him on fire inside. He kept hold of Rachel's hand after everyone else left. "Let's get you changed," Sam urged, gently helping her to stand.

Rachel embraced Sam, unable to let him go. "Sam, he's a little boy."

He heard the fear in her tone. "It'll be okay. I told him he's safe. He won't grow any faster."

"I … I never saw him as a baby." She twisted a section of his tee shirt as she kept her cheek pressed to his chest. "What did he look like?"

Sam shut his eyes, resting his chin on her head, playing with the ends of her hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "I … I didn't see him right away. It was at least an hour or two after he was born by the time I did."

"He grew that much in an hour or two?"

"I think he would've kept growing like Jack did if I hadn't stopped him."

Rachel pulled away, looking into Sam's eyes with disbelief. "This is beyond amazing. And overwhelming. And I need a shower in the worst way. You should go make sure your brother isn't feeding Robbie all sugar for his first meal."

"You're kidding, right?" he scoffed.

"No, why?"

"Baby girl, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Rachel sighed. "Sam, I'm fine."

"You were _dead_ ," Sam argued, keeping his hands on her waist as he looked into her eyes.

"I'm not now. I'm right here." She kissed him, Sam only partially swallowing back his groan. Their tongues dueled, his teeth gently nipping at her top lip. It took all he had to slow himself down, making his kiss more languid. His hands raked into her hair, holding her head as his fingers gently tightened at the roots.

When they parted, Sam panted, unable to help shedding a few more tears. "I have something for you," he murmured with realization. Letting her go, he darted for his drawer, tearing through his weapons like a madman. "Dammit, where is it?" he grumbled.

"You mean, this?" Rachel asked behind him.

Sam turned, seeing the small box in her hand. He wet his lips. "Yeah. That's … That's it." Clumsily, he took it from her, clearing his throat. His pulse shot up, his knee bouncing ever so slightly as he agonized over the right words.

"Sam," Rachel said, raising a brow at him. "Don't hurt yourself. I already said yes."

"I _need_ to ask you," he mumbled. "I just …" Sam laughed, gripping the box a little tighter. "Rachel, I've wanted to marry you for five months now. And every time I got the nerve to ask, something happened. The timing was never right. Hell, it's not right now." He paused, looking down at the box, his tone shifting. "Our lives just got a whole lot more complicated, and very dangerous. I don't know everything Robbie is capable of, but I do know that he's an extremely special boy. A legacy, an angel, a demon, _and_ a Winchester. He's destined for a hard life. Putting this on you officially gives you the Winchester Curse." Sam opened the box, looking up at her as he showed her, watching her lips part at the ring. "So, I … I want to make sure that you're sure."

"Sam," Rachel smirked, thoroughly amused. "That was the weirdest proposal you could've ever given me."

"Yeah it was," Sam admitted, a little embarrassed.

"And it was also the best," she continued, stepping closer. "Because it was from you." Rachel brushed Sam's hair from his face. "Of course I'll marry you, dufus."

With a shaky hand, Sam withdrew the ring from its velvet home, gently sliding it onto Rachel's left ring finger. It fit perfectly. "I love you," he breathed, unable to help his goofy smile.

"I love you too," Rachel assured just before Sam could silence her with a passionate kiss. His mouth covered hers, a groan rumbling in his throat as he tasted her. The tears that ran down his cheeks dripped onto their lips, salt tainting the sweetness.

"God," Sam whispered with a small gasp as he parted from Rachel, sucking in a breath he didn't realize he needed. "Please. Please don't leave."

"Sammy, I need a shower."

"I can't …" He couldn't stop himself, sniffing back the tears. "You were dead, baby. _Dead._ I can't … I feel like I can't ever let you out of my sight."

Rachel ran her fingers through Sam's hair. "I'm here now," she whispered, eyes welling at his more than apparent pain. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he murmured as she dabbed away his tears.

Sam drew her in for one final kiss before he reluctantly let her go. "Hurry," he whispered, laughing.

Shaking her head, Rachel kissed his cheek and parted from him. Sam watched as she gathered clothes, his chest tight as he caught a glimpse of the ring on her hand. With one final look over her shoulder, Rachel slipped out of the room. Sam covered his mouth, shock making him both giddy and sick.

"Another piece?" he heard Dean ask from down the hall.

Sam quickly made his way to the kitchen, seeing Robbie sitting at the table with a forkful of pie in hand. "That's his fourth piece," Dean admitted, clearing his throat.

"What?" Sam asked, shocked. "No!" He took the pie from Robbie.

"Aww, Dad!" Robbie moaned.

"No," Sam repeated, setting the pie down. "Your mother will literally murder me. So …" Sam opened the fridge, looking at the contents. It was mostly beer, leftover pizza, and a half gallon of milk. "Oh boy."

"I'm hungry, Daddy," Robbie sighed.

Sam grabbed a piece of pizza and threw it on a plate. "Oh, that's so much better," Dean scoffed. Ignoring him, Sam heated it up and gave it to Robbie, who scarfed it down. "Jeez. Never seen a kid eat so much."

"How many kids have you spent time around?" Sam asked with an arched brow.

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."

"Sam!"

They both whirled around, finding Mary in the doorway. "Language!" Mary warned.

Sam jutted a finger out toward Dean. "He started it."

"Oh, real nice," Dean muttered. "Wad."

"Dean," Mary warned.

Dean cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Eyeing the pizza Robbie was contentedly eating, she sighed. "Let's go, Dean," Mary said, nodding toward the door. "We need groceries and clothes for this little guy." Mary bent down and kissed Robbie's head.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, mostly holding back his groan at the idea of shopping.

Sam watched as they left, shifting his focus to the hall. He desperately wanted Rachel to be done her shower. Just to see her alive, walking around, breathing—it was all he wanted. He had half a mind to go into the bathroom and wait for her, but Robbie needed him.

"Daddy," Robbie said through chewing his pizza, "your brain is noisy."

"My brain?" Sam asked, looking at his son.

Robbie nodded. "It's really loud."

"I'm … sorry."

"Mommy's okay, you know. I made her better."

Sam rubbed his temples, unable to adjust to the idea of his child being able to read his mind. "Robbie, what else can you do?"

Robbie shrugged. "I think I can fly. And maybe shoot lasers."

"Lasers?"

"Uh-huh. 'Cause Uncle Cas did, and we're the same, right?"

"Sort of."

"What's different?"

Sam froze, hating how there was no easy way to tell a child they were part demon. "Um … Well …"

"I'm a demon?"

Sam's lips parted. "Robbie, you can't just go into people's heads like that."

Robbie pursed his lips. "Why?"

"Because … it's not … ethical."

"What's eff-fickle?"

" _Eth_ -ical. It's the difference between good and bad."

"So …" Robbie rested his pizza crust down, his eyes wide. "I'm bad?"

"No, no, no," Sam assured, kneeling down in front of him, his heart ready to burst from the love he felt for the boy, and from the pain his fear caused him. "God, no. You're the best little boy in the world." He smoothed his son's chaotic hair.

Robbie's shoulders sank as he stared at the concrete floor. "But demons aren't good."

"Hey," Sam said, lifting Robbie to look into his eyes with a gentle finger to the boy's chin. "Listen to me: I have demon blood too."

Robbie's eyes rounded. "You do?"

Sam nodded. "And am I evil?" Robbie shook his head. "Then neither are you. You're powerful, Robbie. And it's important to know when it's good to use it. With great power comes great responsibility."

"Tell me you did not just quote _Spider-Man_ to our son."

Sam turned, his heart stopping as he saw Rachel braiding her still wet hair as she walked to them. He wet his lips then looked back and examined his son. "You okay?" he asked.

Robbie nodded, grinning. "I'm just like you, Daddy!" He used Sam's shirt sleeve to wipe his mouth.

"Napkin," Rachel chided, handing the boy a paper napkin.

Robbie smeared the napkin over his mouth, ineffective at cleaning it. He paused, listening to something. "Uncle Jack just asked if I can play," he said excitedly. "Can I?"

Both Rachel and Sam looked up, not seeing Jack anywhere. "Uh," Rachel murmured, brow creased as she looked at Robbie. "He's not—"

"I promise I'll watch over him," Jack said as he flashed into the room, startling Sam and Rachel.

Sam stood, dumbfounded as Rachel tried to calm her racing heart. "Sure," he said, watching Robbie bolt after Jack, both disappearing with a flap of their wings. "That's gonna take some getting used to," he added.

"You aren't kidding," Rachel agreed, perplexed.

With an exhale of relief, Sam took Rachel into his arms, wrapping her into his embrace as he pressed his mouth on hers. He kissed her with a throaty groan, his hands roaming over her backside and drawing her flush to himself. "Sam," Rachel chided softly as she pulled away in embarrassment.

"Did I hurt you?" he immediately asked, eyes wide in fear.

"No," she assured. "I'm … I'm fine. I don't even feel like I went through labor."

"Good," Sam sighed, combing her hair from her face. "I just … didn't want to hurt you."

"You didn't."

"Good."

Rachel swallowed hard as Sam began to stroke her. "It's … We shouldn't …"

A lopsided grin curled Sam's mouth when he realized her embarrassment. He sought out her neck, his lips moving along her skin as he kept her pressed close. "We shouldn't what?" he asked teasingly.

"Sam, we … we can't …"

"Can't what?" he asked, taking her earlobe into his mouth, smirking as she gave a small gasp.

"Not in … the kitchen."

Sam's teeth gently grazed over her throat, his tongue darting out to soothe it. "Then tell me where you want it."

Rachel's eyes rolled shut, goose flesh prickling her arms as he continued his assault. "Shit, Sam," she shuddered. "Not now."

His growl of a protest resonated against her skin. "I can't help myself. You're just so damn addictive."

"Find a way, Winchester."

Sam pressed one final kiss on her neck before pulling back. "You know, we'll need to consummate our engagement."

"Um, hello? I just popped out a kid."

With a teasing hand over her arm, he nodded. "You're right. I mean, even though Cas healed you, you couldn't possibly want …" It slid down her stomach, grazing the top of her jeans. "... anything."

Rachel swallowed, her eyes shut as she wriggled a little away. "Damn you, Samuel."

"It's _Sam,_ " he instructed.

Her eyes opened, and she grinned. "Yes, sir."

Rachel watched Sam's stifled reaction, amused as he grunted while shifting his stance. "You think this is funny, huh?" he asked, drawing her dangerously close, his hand latching onto her hip. "Is it funny, little girl?"

His playfulness, his smile—it had been far too long since she saw those things she loved about him. "You tell me," she whispered.

As Sam opened his mouth to speak, they were interrupted. "Daddy, how do you make love?" Robbie asked.

Both jumped, seeing the boy's confused face. "Where did you hear that?" Rachel demanded. Her eyes widened as Robbie pointed to Sam.

"What?!" Sam asked, shocked. "I was only thinking it!" He drew in a breath. "Robbie, buddy—" He squatted down eye level with his son. "—you can't go into people's minds, alright?"

"Sorry, Daddy," Robbie sniffed. "Are you mad?"

"No, no, no," he assured. "I just want you to try really hard not to do it, okay?"

"But they're so noisy, Daddy!" Robbie covered his ears, brow furrowed. "They're both talking and they're mean! Your head is nicer and so is Mommy's."

"Both?" Rachel asked, moving closer and examining Robbie. She picked up the boy as he clung to her. "What do you mean both, baby?"

"The angels and the demons. They talk to me."

With a gulp, Rachel looked to Sam as he straightened, a fresh layer of fear settling over him. "What do they say, Robbie?"

"The demons want to take me. But angels don't like me." He looked to Rachel, weaving his small arms around her neck. She drew Robbie tighter to herself, and he buried his face into her hair. "But you won't let them hurt me, right Mama?"

"Never, baby," Rachel soothed, pain in her eyes as she stroked the boy. She looked to Sam, who looked somewhere in between frightened and enraged. "Daddy and I won't let anything happen to you."

"Okay." Robbie blew out a breath, his mood shifting. "Can I go back with Uncle Jack now?"

"Sure."

As they watched Robbie flap his wings and disappear, Rachel blindly reached out for Sam's hand. His grip was strong, sure—even though inside he was a mess. "He can hear demons too?" she asked.

"He's Azazel's blood heir," Sam replied bitterly. Never before had such a fierceness built in him so fast. He felt violent at the idea of someone even looking at Robbie the wrong way. "But they won't have him. I'll kill every last demon and angel with my bare hands if I have to."

Though she knew Sam was sure, Rachel wasn't. She looked to where Robbie had been before he disappeared, sickened. There was no time for them to be a family, or for Robbie to be a boy.

A war for their son had already begun.


	59. Chapter 59

Dean slipped into the kitchen, grinning as he saw Rachel and Sam. "How'd you get out of shopping?" Sam asked.

"I'm just that good," Dean winked. He sighed contentedly. "Just like old times," he murmured.

"Minus the pie," Rachel said. She smiled, then groaned. "I have baby weight to lose."

"Stop," Sam chided, turning her to face him. "You're absolutely fucking perfect."

"I doubt I fit into my jeans."

"So, we'll buy more."

Rachel groaned. "Sam—"

"I mean it," Sam said, drawing her closer. He lifted her chin up, looking into her eyes. "You're perfect."

With a sigh of surrender, Rachel wove her arms around Sam's neck. Their lips met, and Sam groaned as he automatically deepened the kiss.

"Alright, alright," Dean grumbled, opening the fridge. "Get a room." He sighed as he shut the door after withdrawing a beer, popping the top off. He could see them still kissing out of the corner of his eyes. "Dude," he scoffed, pausing as something shiny caught his eye. He stopped, narrowing his focus at Rachel's hand. "Holy shit!" he shouted, surprising Sam and Rachel; they stopped, turning to him. "Dude!" He grinned despite Sam's confused face. "The ring!"

Sam laughed, looking down as pink tinted his cheeks. "Yeah, she, uh … she said yes."

"Hell yeah!" Dean dragged Sam away from Rachel, giving him a hearty hug. Sam shook his head with a smile as Dean patted his back. "Congratulations, man!" He stopped when he parted from his brother, softening as he turned to Rachel. "Come 'ere, Sis." He gave her a tender hug, kissing her cheek before pulling away. "Damn. Best damn day ever." He shrugged. "Except when you died," he added to Rachel. "That part was absolute shit."

"Dean, I know you're hiding in here," Mary called as she approached.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"You're 'just that good?'" Sam asked teasingly.

"Shut up."

"What's going on in here?" Mary asked as she peeked in, seeing the three smiling.

Rachel automatically clammed up, nervous as she looked to Mary. Sam sensed it, wrapping his arm around her. "Mom … We're, uh …" He couldn't possibly smile any bigger. "We're getting married."

Mary's eyes rounded, her face brightening with unmistakable joy. "Oh my God," she breathed. "That's …" Her eyes teared up; she immediately gave Sam a hug. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart." She then turned to Rachel. "Come here," she said, drawing Rachel close. She stroked her hair, soothing her as she sniffled. "Welcome to the family," she said, pulling away and combing Rachel's hair from her face. "I'm so happy for you both."

Bobby and Castiel soon came back into the kitchen. "You asked her?" Castiel asked, eyes wide with excitement.

"He did," Rachel replied, showing her ring.

"'Bout time," Dean teased.

Sam laughed. "We've been a little busy."

"Well, this a wonderful change of pace," Bobby said with a laugh. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Sam beamed.

"This calls for a proper celebration," Mary decided. She looked to the rest. "Save your appetites. When I get back, I'll be making a big dinner."

"I'd be happy to help," Bobby said with a gentle nod.

Robbie flashed in, Jack following as they laughed. "Hey, little guy," Rachel said, picking the boy up, who snuggled into her. She swallowed hard, running her hand through his hair. He was so small, yet still far bigger than she anticipated. She had missed seeing him as a baby. She was trying to remain calm for both him and Sam, but inside she was breaking.

Sam looked to her, his eyes narrowing. He saw the war in her head, one she was likely burying deep from Robbie. Moving to her side, Sam wrapped his arms around them both from behind, pressing them to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "My girl," he whispered.

"Good on you, Sam," Bobby said, giving him a nod. "You've got yourself there a beautiful family."

With a nod, Sam sighed. "I do." He swallowed, turning to the others with a practiced smile to cover his fears. "I have an amazing family," he said, looking at the others.

"Dean," Mary said, clearing her throat. "The groceries won't carry themselves."

Dean nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered reluctantly, following her out of the kitchen.

* * *

It was late when Mary came back, a car full of food, clothes, and toys. It was Christmas, Robbie's Birthday, and any other national holiday Mary could use as a reason for maxing out their card.

"There," Rachel said, smoothing the Batman pajamas Dean picked out over Robbie. "Look at you. So handsome."

Robbie was distracted, though. He traced over her arm with his finger. "Daddy said I'm good."

"Daddy's right. You are."

"Then why do I feel bad?" Robbie looked into Rachel's eyes.

Rachel ran her hand through the boy's hair. "Probably because you are much like your daddy. He said he always knew he was different. But he's still done so much good."

Robbie hugged Rachel, and she stood, lifting him. She walked out of hers and Sam's bedroom, carrying her son. Sam met her at the end of the hall, giving her a small smile as he took Robbie from her arms. "Looking good, buddy," he said, kissing Robbie on the top of his head.

"Can we watch a movie, Daddy?"

"Sure."

Rachel tucked away a section of Robbie's hair behind his ear. "Why don't you boys go watch?" she suggested. "I'm going to get some sleep."

Sam looked down at her, swallowing. "Don't leave," he whispered. "Not yet. I just … I want to be with you both."

It was unusual for Sam to deny her something so basic, but she nodded. "Okay."

Sam got the three of them settled into the couch in the Dean Cave, positioning Rachel between his legs as Robbie curled up next to her. Draping a blanket over them, Sam flicked on Toy Story, settling in after pressing a kiss to the top of Rachel's head.

Robbie was soon asleep, leaving Sam and Rachel watching in silence. "Talk to me," Sam urged.

"I'm okay," Rachel insisted.

"You're not, baby girl. Hell, I'm not. This is a big adjustment for normal people, let alone for what we've been through the last day."

Rachel looked down at Robbie, stroking his hair. "It's just so much more than I was prepared for. I … I never knew him as a baby. But he's just here, like he's always been here."

Sam nodded. "I get it."

"I just thought I'd have time to figure out how to explain who he was to him. And to learn who he is."

"I don't think I'll ever know the right way to tell him the things we'll have to."

With a sigh, Rachel shut her eyes. "I thought I was acting weird."

"Baby," Sam assured, tightening his hold on her, "you never have to worry about me judging you. Okay?"

"Okay."

Sam smirked a little. "Uh-uh."

Rachel couldn't see his eyes, but she felt the sensual undertone in the way his hands moved over her. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl," Sam murmured as he pressed a kiss onto her head.

"What about you? You okay?" Rachel asked, watching Sam stroke her arm over the blanket.

Sam didn't answer right away. Everything was perfect, but terrifying. "I just don't want to let either of you go. Ever."

"Sam …" She nuzzled her cheek against his chest. "We'll be okay."

"They'll be coming for you both." Sam's jaw ticked, unconsciously tightening his hold on Rachel and Robbie.

"And we'll be ready," she countered. She looked up into his eyes as best she could, seeing the tears already formed in them. "We _will_ get through this."

"Rachel," Sam began, scoffing, "it's … it's not just for a day, or a month, or even a couple years. This is _forever_." He raked her hair away from her face, watching Robbie stir next to her, then settle back in. "They won't stop. They'll keep coming as long as you're both alive."

"I'm aware," Rachel said gently, drawing in a deep breath. "But like I said, we will get through it. _Together_."

Sam shook his head. " _I_ did this to you. I'm the one who—"

"Don't," Rachel interrupted. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Samuel." She set her jaw as she looked at him. "You know that thought that you refuse to get out of your head isn't true. And your son …" Rachel glanced down at Robbie, then back to Sam. "Your son just asked me if he was good, Sam. He's afraid of who he is. He needs you to remind him of who you both _really_ are."

Sam examined her, threading her hair through his fingers as the television illuminated her face. "I don't deserve you," he finally decided, giving her a small smile. "You're perfect."

"I'm not," she laughed, "and you do deserve me." Rachel reached up and stroked his cheek.

Sam took hold of her hand, his smile growing as he studied her engagement ring. "My future wife," he murmured, shaking his head a little in disbelief. "I never thought I'd be here. A smart, beautiful fiancée, an amazing little boy …" His brow wrinkled. "This was what I always wanted, but never thought I'd have."

"Because of the life."

He nodded, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He brought her knuckles to his mouth, tenderly kissing each one. "You and I need to double down on defensive training," he decided, his mouth moving against her skin as he spoke. "And we need Cas and Jack to hone Robbie's powers."

Rachel exhaled deeply, settling back against Sam's chest as he kept hold of her hand. "When I was in labor," she said softly, staring at the back of the couch, "I could feel him. He was so strong. And he wasn't even born yet." She swallowed hard. "Sam, he's … I don't think any of us have any real idea of what he's capable of."

Sam nodded in agreement, continuing to kiss her skin. "We just need to remind him that his power is for good. No matter what he hears in his head."

"I didn't realize demons communicated like angels."

"Me either. Although, it could be just him, given his lineage."

"Do you think they're talking directly to him?"

Rachel drew Robbie closer, comforted as Sam embraced them both. "I don't know. But I do know one thing: No one, Rachel," he reminded her. "No one touches either of you."

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about him."

"I know you are, but I'm worried about both of you. And I always will be." Sam kissed her head, sighing into her hair. "Let's go get some rest."

It took only a moment for Robbie to fall back to sleep in Sam's arms as he carried him down the hall, following Rachel's lead. Rachel paused by their room door, hesitant. "Can he … can he sleep with us tonight?"

Sam nodded. "I'm not ready to let either of you out of my sight," he replied with a whispered smile.

Rachel quickly changed as Sam laid Robbie down in the middle of the bed, staring for a long moment as his son. Thick, dark lashes kissed Robbie's cheeks as his eyes remained closed, soft puffs of air escaping his slightly opened mouth. With a sigh, he stripped down, putting on a pair of sweatpants and flicking off the light as Rachel climbed in. Robbie found his way on top of them both as he laid in the middle, Sam's arm wrapping around Rachel's shoulder. "Sleep," he urged into her ear, seeing her heavy eyes. "And if he needs something, I'll get it. Just rest, baby girl." Rachel nodded, laying her cheek against his chest as she encircled Robbie by laying on her side.

Sam stared at the darkened ceiling for a while, listening to both Rachel's and Robbie's relaxed breaths. It was beautiful, yet painful. He knew he would do anything for either of them, and he knew his enemies knew that. They were his greatest weaknesses, alongside his brother, mother, Castiel, and Jack.

Still, he imagined a simple outdoor wedding under Kansas skies, sprigs of wildflowers clutched by Jody, Donna, and Mary, and across from them, Dean, Bobby, and Jack with the same wildflowers in their lapels, Robbie in Dean's arms. Castiel stood in wait, ready to officiate the ceremony with a giddy grin. Claire and the girls, along with their other hunter friends, would watch as Rachel walked down the aisle in a billowing white dress, the wind swirling her dark waves. His throat would dry up like a tube of sandpaper, his face paling as the most painfully big smile spread across his face.

Then, red appeared, stretching through the cotton fibers of Rachel's dress as she stopped, eyes wide. Uninvited guests in dark suits with long shining angel blades dispersed through the scene. Chaos born, people moved in slow motion, shouts and screams clogging the air. One by one, people were stabbed, no mercy shown as bodies dropped. Sam ran to protect Rachel, torn as he turned to see Robbie being taken from Dean's lifeless arms. His throat was raw from shouting, but none of it mattered. Everyone around him fell, bathed in a puddle of their own blood. Robbie's violent screams pierced Sam's ears, and he watched his son being taken away as his bride laid bloody in his lap.

Sam bolted awake, panting as he scanned the darkness. Both Rachel and Robbie remained asleep, nestled into his embrace as they had hours before. Trying to catch his breath, he swallowed, his throat dry as he replayed the scene in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam drew them both closer, biting back the tears as his heart raced.

"No one," he breathed to himself in barely a whisper, gritting his teeth. "I promise, baby girl."


	60. Chapter 60

Morning came quickly for Sam, since he didn't sleep much that night. That, and he wasn't used to a small set of feet jabbing him in his thighs and stomach. He wouldn't have traded anything in the world for how he felt when he held Robbie and Rachel, though. He watched them sleep, Rachel's head on his chest rising and falling with his breath. Robbie was tucked into her embrace, his hair falling in his eyes. Nothing felt more right, more perfect than they did in his arms.

Robbie stirred; Sam watched, seeing the boy's brow wrinkle as his movements increased. "Hey," he soothed. "Robbie. Shhh." Sam nearly jumped when Robbie's eyes opened with suddenness. "It's okay," Sam assured.

"Daddy," Robbie asked, sitting up and looking at the wall across from them, "I'm sorry."

Sam wet his lips as Rachel woke. He looked at her apologetically, then focused on Robbie as he sat up. "Why are you sorry, buddy?"

"They died because of me."

Rachel glanced at Sam, who drew in a hesitant breath. "Who did?" she asked, sitting up with them.

"The people in my head."

Both Sam and Rachel let out an exhale. "Sweetie," Rachel said gently, drawing Robbie to sit on her lap, "that was just a bad dream."

"Then why are they dead?"

Rachel stroked the boy's hair, cuddling him to her chest. "It's just a nightmare, baby."

"Who were they?" Sam asked, receiving a look from Rachel.

"The lady was nice. So was her dad."

"It's _just_ a dream," Rachel said firmly, eyeing Sam as he readied to ask something else. "Don't think about it."

"'Kay." Robbie sniffed. "I just see them, though. I can't make them go away."

Rachel looked to Sam. They shared a moment of silent pained expressions. "Robbie," Sam said tenderly, picking him up and holding him on his lap. "I know it's scary, but we're right here. We won't let anything happen to you."

Sam kissed Robbie's head, sighing into his thick hair. Robbie was plagued with the visions he only had when he drank demon blood. It was an awful curse, one that he immediately felt guilty for. Rachel had tried to remind him of the good in him, but how could it possibly be good that he gave his son a lifetime of agony?

"Daddy?" Robbie asked.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I'm hungry."

"Let's get you some breakfast then."

"I want those Apple Jacks, because they're like Uncle Jack!" The boy giggled as he separated from Sam, bouncing on the mattress. His small body built more momentum than he could control. Before Sam or Rachel could grab him, he toppled over the side toward the concrete floor.

"Robbie!" Rachel gasped, scurrying to where Robbie fell, only to find him hovering.

"Cool!" Robbie said as he floated above the floor. "Daddy, look!"

"I see," Sam said, brow drawn in amazement as he watched. "That's … That's pretty awesome, buddy."

Robbie let go and dropped to his feet on the floor. "I wanna go show Uncle Dean!" Before they could tell him no, he whooshed away. Sam immediately stood, yanking on a tee shirt from the top of his laundry pile.

"This parenting thing is no joke," Rachel said with a sigh, standing and tugging on her clothes from the day before, chasing after Robbie alongside Sam. "Also, I'm just seeing how the bunker is incredibly unsafe for a child. Concrete floors. Weapons."

"Yeah. I'll work on that. As for him, we're kinda at a disadvantage," Sam replied, rounding the corner and spotting a very tired looking Dean carrying Robbie down the hall. "Our kid has wings." Sam crossed to Dean. "Sorry," he offered as Dean paused in front of him.

"Meh. Sleep is for the weak," Dean replied with a laugh, keeping Robbie in his arms.

"Then I'm weak," Rachel yawned.

"You just had a baby yesterday," Sam insisted, turning to her and cupping her cheek. "You should get back to sleep. I'll take care of him."

"I'm alright." Her deep yawn betrayed her.

"Go," Sam urged, drawing her close and planting kisses on her forehead. "Sleep, baby girl. Rest."

"You sure?"

"More than sure."

Sam watched Rachel walk back to their room, unable to help his smile as he admired the view. It reminded him of the first time he saw her. It seemed like such a long time ago, first meeting her in Nebraska. Still, she was just as beautiful to him as ever, inside and out.

"Little Man showed me a neat trick," Dean yawned, gaining Sam's attention. He carried Robbie alongside Sam, heading for the kitchen.

"I can fly!" Robbie giggled.

"Yeah you can. So, you gonna teach me?"

Robbie's giggles grew. "You're not an angel, Uncle Dean."

Dean smirked. "I've heard a few ladies say the same thing." Sam's eyes widened as he gave Dean a warning glare, clearing his throat. Dean smiled awkwardly. "But, uh, you don't need to know anything … about that."

"About ladies?" Robbie asked. "Why not?"

"Well, uh …" Dean sighed as they entered the kitchen. "It's too early to answer that question, buddy. Gotta let Uncle Dean fuel up."

Robbie's brow wrinkled as Dean set him down, moving to the coffee pot. "How do you 'fuel up?'"

With a wink at him, Dean snapped his fingers and gave him a point. "Bacon, little man. Your mommy ate a lot of it when she was pregnant with you."

"He's not wrong," Sam said with a small laugh.

Dean took a hearty sip of his coffee, exhaling in relief as Sam moved in to get a cup. "Alright, Bobby John. Uncle Dean's showing you how to make the quintessential Morning After Meal."

"Dude!" Sam chided in a harsh whisper.

"Morning after what?" Robbie asked as he climbed onto a chair, kneeling on it.

"Uh … the morning after you fall asleep," Dean replied, seeing Sam roll his eyes with a grumble. "Watch and learn."

Sam drew in a deep breath. "If you think you can keep him unpolluted for five minutes, I'm going to check on some stuff."

"Yeah, we got this, right Robbie?"

"Yeah, dude," Robbie grinned.

With a smile he couldn't help, Sam watched for a moment as Dean began showing Robbie how to make pancake batter. What his son had dreamt about lingered, though. He knew the visions were deadly accurate. There had to either be something in the news about it, or indicators of demon activity to track. If Robbie was seeing things, there was a reason.

Sam took his cup into the library, sitting with a sigh in front of his laptop. He knew Rachel didn't want Robbie to worry about what he saw, but she didn't know how incessant the visions were for someone like them. Probably even more so for Robbie. If he wanted to free his son from them, he had to find the source.

He focused on the screen, catching whiffs of breakfast from the kitchen as he flipped through news sources and tagged alerts. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though. Sam ran a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his stubbled jaw a little as he thought. With one more search input, Sam scrolled, eyeing the text until he stopped on something—a string of cattle mutilations in Iowa. It was a long shot, but worth taking. Sam sipped his coffee and dug a little deeper. His brow wrinkled as he paused on the name of the farm, taking it and putting in a search. A middle-aged woman named Amanda Baker and her elderly father, Rex Baker, ran the small farm. "The lady and her dad," Sam murmured, recalling Robbie's vision. Mapping it quickly, Sam wet his lips in thought. It was a five hour drive, certainly less miles than they'd gone before for lesser leads.

Sam sent the files he gathered to his tablet, drawing in a deep breath. There was no murder reported, so he might still have a chance to save them. And to rid whatever demon lurked around. He stood, snatching up his coffee as he went back into the kitchen. He shook his head with a laugh at Robbie's stack of pancakes that Dean was dousing in maple syrup. "Alright, easy," Sam said. "It's not a salt and burn."

"What's a salt and burn?" Robbie asked as he stuffed a pancake into his mouth.

"A milk run," Dean replied, ruffling the boy's hair.

"What's a milk run?" Robbie asked, his mouth stuffed with food.

"No talking while you're eating," Sam said, raising a brow at the boy.

"Yes, sir," he murmured after swallowing down the bite.

"I know that look," Dean said with a point to Sam, eyeing him as he chomped on a piece of bacon. "What's going on?"

"I think I caught us a case," Sam replied. "Cattle mutilations in Iowa."

Dean nodded slowly. "So, I'll go check it out after breakfast."

Sam's brow arched. "You?"

"Look," Dean said softly, "the kid needs someone to watch him, and Rach needs rest."

"You're not going by yourself," Sam warned, his cool tone gaining Robbie's attention. "We're both going. Cas can watch him."

"If it's what I think it is, we need angel juice."

"I can come!" Robbie said, his hand darting up with excitement. "I'm an angel!"

Sam smiled gently, sitting next to his son. "You are, buddy. The best one I know. But this isn't something for you."

"Because I'm little?" Robbie asked with a pout.

"This is for adults."

"I can grow!" Robbie squeezed his eyes shut, immediately freaking Sam out.

"No, no, no," he said, clearing his throat as Robbie opened his eyes. "Don't … don't grow any more, okay?"

Robbie's face wrinkled. "But you need help!"

"Buddy, just stay here with Mommy, okay?" Sam pressed a kiss on his head. "Daddy, Uncle Dean, and Uncle Cas will be back by supper."

With a heavy sigh, Robbie pressed his lips together and poked at his remaining pancakes with his fork. "No fair. I wanna help."

Sam looked above the boy's head to Dean for help, but Dean only shrugged and shook his head. "You are helping," Sam said, an idea coming to him. "After all, you need to protect Mommy for me, right?"

Robbie's eyes widened in excitement. "Yeah!" He shut them again, Sam grabbing his shoulder.

"No!" he shouted, seeing Robbie's surprise. "You … you don't have to grow to protect her. Just stay with her, okay?"

As Robbie studied him with his intent green eyes, Sam saw the boy's expression shift. "You think I'm a baby," his son concluded with a huff.

Sam rubbed his brow. "Robbie—"

"I can be big! I can be like Jack!"

"I don't want you to," Sam interrupted, then sighing. "Robbie, I want you to be our little boy. To be a child. To have fun, to grow normally."

Dean winced at nearly the same time as Sam. "Bad word choice," he murmured.

"So I _am_ a freak," Robbie growled.

"No! No," Sam urged. "You're not! You're amazing, buddy."

With the tiniest scowl Sam ever saw, Robbie disappeared, the echo of his small wings flapping behind him. "Well that went well," Dean said, biting into another piece of bacon.

"Thanks for the backup," Sam growled, pushing to stand as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Sam, that's what parenting is. The kid's gonna be pissed at you most of the time. That's how you know you're doing it right."

Sam headed for the hall, hoping his instinct about Robbie going back to Rachel was right. "Yeah, but other kids don't have the ability to grown into an adult out of spite."

"Well, maybe …" Dean exhaled deeply. "Maybe he should, then. Or, maybe he should come." He saw his brother stop, giving him a shocked glare. "All I'm saying is, maybe trying to keep him innocent isn't going to work. Maybe he's bound to be in the life as a kid."

Saw's jaw ticked. "I refuse to give him the childhood we had," he said, narrowing his eyes. "And I refuse to deny Rachel any more childhood moments with him that she rightfully deserves. We both do."

"All I'm saying is—"

"No, Dean," Sam snarled, feeling his pulse shoot up. "The answer is no. So don't bother finishing."

Sam turned on his heel and stormed down the hall, grumbling to himself. How could Dean possibly think that raising Robbie as their father did them was smart or even healthy?

With a yank on the door, he threw it open, revealing Rachel sitting up in bed with Robbie on her lap. His stomach knotted at the thought of Robbie's ability to grow while he was gone. "Robbie," he sighed, coming to sit next to them. The boy turned away, looking at Rachel's hair as he played with it. "Robbie, buddy, I … I just want you to be safe."

"What's going on, exactly?" Rachel asked, seeming more than weary.

Sam wet his lips. "Cattle mutilations in Iowa," he murmured, looking at Robbie. "I need you both to stay here."

"Sam," Rachel said, brow wrinkled. "If it's what I think you're saying, then you're going to need backup."

"Dean and Cas are coming," he assured, not seeing much improvement to her worried expression. "And besides, we … We can't work cases together anymore. We've got to make sure one of us is …"

"Sam," Rachel sighed, "I know you're freaked, but you can't hide us away and expect everything to be alright because of it."

Sam scoffed. "There are a crap ton of supernatural beings trying to kill you both, so … yeah. You're going to stay put for now."

"No!" Rachel growled, catching Robbie's attention. "You said so yourself that this is a lifelong fight. You're _not_ going to be stuffing us in a panic room for the rest of our lives."

"I don't think I'm being unreasonable," Sam replied, feeling his blood pressure raise. "All I want is to make sure you're both safe, and that he has someone."

"So, when are you planning to let me work a case?" she challenged. "Next week? Next year?"

"Baby—"

"Sam, I agree about Robbie, but I don't agree about keeping us here all the time. Because that's what this will turn into—me here, him here, our lives in this bunker."

"It's not … It wouldn't be all the time. I'm just trying to keep you safe," Sam said, feeling his patience slipping.

"And I'm trying to make you understand that taking our lives from us won't keep us safe."

"So, what—you want him to grow?"

"No, but I want you to stop trying to hide us from the world. We need to fight together."

Sam ran his hand over his face. "Well, this is _not_ that fight." He stood, crossing to his bureau and angrily rifling through for clothes. Suddenly, he was frozen, stiff under Robbie's power. "Robbie," he winced, unable to look back at his son. "I—"

"No!" Robbie shouted. "Stop fighting!"

"Baby," Rachel said; Sam heard the strain in her voice too, assuming she was bound like him, "Mommies and Daddies have to talk about things."

"I can grow!" Robbie insisted. "I just need a little time, and—"

"Robbie, baby … It's okay, I promise. Just … just let us go, okay?"

With a grumble, Robbie released them. Sam rotated around, seeing Rachel roll her shoulders in relief. He took a step toward her. "I just … I don't want to bring him up like I was," Sam said softly.

"We don't have a choice," Rachel reminded him. "He was born into it. There's no stopping it, Sam. Eventually, he will need to learn."

"Eventually," Sam agreed. "But not now." He watched her expression harden, her silence almost more uncomfortable than their arguing. He bridged the gap and sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's a milk run," he said, his tone far softer. Robbie watched, silent as he looked between them.

Rachel nodded after a long moment of hesitation. She knew Sam was right—Robbie was far too young to be mixed up in things. And he needed a parent. Still, the idea of him facing everything without her made her ill. "Promise me you'll be careful," she said softly, letting Sam stroke her cheek, concern still etched deep in her face. "Promise me that."

Her request was fairly unreasonable considering what he was up against, and he knew she knew it. Still, it was her terms, the only thing she would be able to hold on to. "Always," he murmured, brushing his thumb over her lips.

"Daddy?" Robbie whispered, looking up at him.

"Yeah, buddy?" Sam asked, shifting his focus.

"They're coming," the boy whispered, eyes round.

With a swallow, Sam leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, pausing before he tenderly kissed Rachel's. "I have to go," he whispered. "But I'll be back soon."

"You'd better be," she warned in a shaky breath, trying her best to hold it together for Robbie. Though Sam claimed it was a milk run, somehow it felt bigger, more dangerous, more doomed than what she would constitute as "okay." She absentmindedly stroked Robbie as the boy curled in her lap while she watched Sam stand and move to change.

When Sam was done, Rachel stood, carrying Robbie. Gently, he took Robbie into his arms, the boy playing with his shirt. "Listen to me, buddy," he murmured, "I'll be back soon. In the meantime, I want you to listen to your mom. Do what she asks, no arguing. Alright?"

Robbie nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And Robbie?"

"Yeah?"

Sam smiled at his son. "I love you so much."

Robbie smiled back. "I love you too, Daddy." He swallowed. "I'll keep Mommy safe," he added with a confident nod.

Running his hand through Robbie's hair, Sam drew in a deep breath. "You don't have to grow. Your mommy is tough. She's amazing. You just stay how you are, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Kissing his forehead, Sam turned his attention to Rachel. He saw the unspoken worries in her eyes. He cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her. "I'll call you as soon as we've got something," he promised. Drawing her forward, he trapped her lips between his. If he could've, he would've stayed in that moment forever—kissing Rachel while holding his son. It was magic, pure bliss. Nothing could or would ever compare. "I love you," he whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I love you," she whispered back.

"You've got bullets, a blade, holy water, salt, holy oil, and silver in my drawer … Jack will be here too. Mom and Bobby are still working on relocations, so they'll be back later."

Rachel nodded, still worried despite Sam's laundry list. "Hey," she said to Robbie, giving him a little tickle. He giggled. "It'll be a Nephilim Party."

"Can we have cake?" Robbie asked, eyes wide.

"After dinner," she smiled softly.

"Awesome!"

"You know what?" Sam said with a smirk, "I think I'll stay home. I like cake."

"You're not a nef-a-lup, Daddy," Robbie laughed.

"Neph-i-lim," he corrected, giving the boy a kiss. "And you're right. I'm not. So will you save me some cake?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Thanks, buddy."

Robbie paused for a minute, intently focused on something before he spoke. "Can I get down? I want to show Uncle Jack my trick!"

"Sure." Sam let him down, watching him flap away with a small whoosh of his wings. Rachel watched as he then moved to stuff together a quick overnight bag. He caught her concerned look. "Just in case," he assured gently, coming back over to her.

"Just in case it's something more than a milk run?"

Sam wet his lips, sighing as he came over to Rachel. "Baby girl, it'll be fine, I promise."

"Don't," she said, holding her hand up. "I'm not Robbie. Sam … You can't say those kinds of things to me. I'm a hunter. I know this life." She drew in a deep breath. "Just …" Stopping, she looked down at the floor. "This isn't easy, okay?" she finally said, still avoiding his eyes. "It isn't easy knowing I can back you up, but not doing it."

"I know it's not," Sam assured, taking her hands. His were warm and strong as he held hers. "It's not easy leaving you two here either. Nothing about this life we're building will ever be easy. But it's everything to me. And I'll do whatever I need to to protect you both. If we want Robbie to be a boy, I _have_ to take away his fears. And right now, it's the demons. I can't let them into his head. We both know how that goes."

He was right, and his honesty soothed a few of her frayed edges. "You still don't get cake," she countered. He saw through her firm expression to the teasing nature in her. "You're not a nef-a-lup."

"That's okay," Sam countered, taking a step closer. He seized her by her waist, drawing her tightly against him. "I'd rather eat another dessert when I get back." Rachel couldn't help her blush; Sam chuckled, rotating his hips against hers. "I know I'm overprotective, but don't you dare go on Tinder or something while I'm gone."

Rachel smirked. "I'd rather take my chances dating a demon." Sam's eyes widened. "Kidding," she laughed. "Relax. I'm still marrying you, even though you're a sexy, stubborn pain in the ass."

"Good, because you don't have a choice anyway. You're mine, remember?"

"Yes, sir," she purred.

"God, baby," Sam groaned, his fingers running over her curves, "tell me I have to go."

"You have to go," Rachel repeated back flatly. She shook her head when he grumbled in protest, his mouth latching onto her neck as he kissed it. "Yes, you do. Go save the world, Winchester."

" _You_ are my world," he reminded her, kissing her softly before pulling away.

"Then go be the man you want Robbie to be," she replied.

"Robbie will always be better than me," Sam countered. "Because he's part you."

Rachel rolled her eyes teasingly. "Get out of here before you make me sick, you sap." She gently pushed against his chest with a smirk, urging him to the door.

Sam's brow rose as he watched her abandon her glasses by the nightstand. "You've been wearing your contacts?"

It was something she forgot to mention to Sam, in all the chaos of their lives. "Actually ... I can see perfectly." She shook her head in awe. "I think Robbie fixed it when he brought me back."

"Wow," Sam murmured. "I mean ... he brought you back. Not sure why this is baffling me."

Rachel laughed. "Don't worry, it surprised me too."

Sam linked his hand through hers as they made their way down the hall, meeting Dean in the maps room. "Ready?" Dean said as he jingled the Impala keys.

Glancing back at Rachel, Sam raised her hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing her knuckles. He nodded as he lowered it, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "Yeah. Let's go."


	61. Chapter 61

Sam wet his lips as he stared out at the vast farms that lined the road they drove. They were going on four hours, three of them providing nearly identical views. Still, the only one he could see was the bloody images of the wedding massacre from his dream. He shut his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. They'd be okay. They were safe at the bunker.

"How're you holding up?" Dean asked, glancing over at Sam.

"I'm alright," Sam replied, giving Dean a small smile.

"Dude. Your recently resurrected fiancée just had a baby days ago, who happens to now be a preschooler with visions and wings."

"... Yeah."

"So … You sure you're okay?"

The question was loaded. He was beyond happy, but also weighed down by uncontrollable fear. "I don't know," he admitted, sighing. "It's a lot. But I just mostly feel like shit leaving her."

"She's tough. She's got it."

"No, not for that. Hell, she's tougher than me." Sam exhaled deeply. "I just don't … I told her I would give her her old life back as soon as I could." He looked over at Dean. "But I can't, Dean. I'll never be able to keep that promise. Not while both sides of assholes are hunting her and Robbie."

Dean nodded. "I get it. But Rach knew that your lives would be far different when Robbie came along."

"Yeah, but I made her a promise."

With a deep breath, Dean narrowed his focus on the road. "Eventually, you'll get back there. In the meantime, though, you can't lay the guilt on yourself. You're trying, and that's all either of you can do."

Castiel flashed into the back seat with a heavy sigh. "Jack is being unreasonable," he grumbled.

"Because we left him?" Dean asked, flicking his gaze back to Castiel in the rear view mirror.

"He loves Rachel and Robbie, but he's convinced he belongs with us."

"But you told him I needed him there for them, right?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded. "Didn't make much of a difference. Him and Rachel were pretty moody in general."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

"Anyway, your mother and Bobby are finalizing relocations," Castiel continued, "and Rachel says to you both, 'Milk goes sour with heat. Just don't die, you dufuses.'"

Dean chuckled. "Sounds about right. Your girl's a pistol, Sam."

"She's no damsel in distress," Sam smirked.

"Yeah. She put you in your place a couple times when you first met her."

Sam's grin grew. "Why do you think I fell for her?"

"You know, I'm surprised she went for you," Dean mused casually.

"What?" Sam asked incredulously, brow wrinkled.

"Well, I mean … I'm more like her: Ballsy, brazen, beautiful … And you're, well ... you. A literally giant nerd."

Dean's teasing didn't bother Sam one bit. "She didn't go for you because she actually has standards."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean sighed. "Damn, Sammy. A wedding. A son. Who the hell would've thought you'd get that lucky?"

"Not me," Sam replied with a sigh.

"You have a date yet?" Dean asked, glancing over at him.

Sam laughed. "I barely have a fiancée. Hell, I'd be thrilled if we even made a courthouse gig happen with how our lives are."

Castiel cleared his throat. "You know, being an angel of the Lord, I'm qualified to perform the ceremony."

"Actually, I was going to give Rowena a call and see if she's available." Sam glanced back after Castiel's failure to reply, seeing his look of disappointment. He laughed, shaking his head. "Cas. Of course you're performing the ceremony."

"Oh," Castiel said with an exhale, a huge smile blooming across his face. "Well, thank you, Sam. It will be my honor."

The remainder of the drive was fairly silent, except for Dean's off-key singing to the radio. Sam focused on positive thoughts to avoid the death trap of worrying about Rachel and Robbie. It was inevitable, though. They filtered through every thought, taking over his mind. Without them there, it felt like two thirds of himself was missing. The emptiness ate at him; he grew worried he was crossing the line to obsessive. How could he not be concerned for them, though? _The bunker is safe_ , Sam kept repeating in his head. _There's no reason to worry._

Right?

* * *

Rachel sighed, stirring the batter for the cake she had promised she'd make while Jack and Robbie practiced different skills in the library. Jack's instructions were a little muffled, but still fairly clear, allowing her to spy a bit. He was a patient teacher, giving Robbie appropriate bits of direction. It wasn't Jack she was worried about, but rather Robbie's instance that he help fight the evil they did, just like everyone else.

Though she had confessed her feelings to Sam, it still wasn't helping her adjust to the fact that Robbie was the size and mental equivalent of a three or four year old. She loved him—love was no question—but she didn't feel like she even had a chance yet to know him, to bond in a traditional way. _Imagine how Kelly Kline would've felt if she survived her labor._ Rachel sighed. She could at least be grateful that Sam had prevented Robbie from growing into an adult like Jack. Still, with Sam gone on a "cool adventure," it made it hard to convince Robbie that being a boy was better.

A notification popped up on her phone, catching her eye. Rachel glanced toward the table, making out the name of who sent the text. "Mary," she murmured, abandoning the cake to check the message. Rachel opened it, reading through it:

 **Staying in the city overnight. Truck broke down, so we're waiting on repairs. And Bobby's fixing Julie's furnace. We're both gonna be too tired to drive. Be back after Glenn's tomorrow night.**

"Great," Rachel muttered. Now she was really alone. _At least until dinner time._ She shook her head, setting the phone down after typing a quick reply. Even with their skill, she was a fool to think Dean, Sam, and Castiel would have demons five hours away wrapped up by dinner. The three of them were as good as alone until late the next day.

Returning to her task, she poured the cake batter into a pan, pausing as she scraped the bowl. A voice echoed in her mind, faint at first, then growing in intensity as it chanted the same sentence over and over:

" _He's mine."_

Rachel dropped the rubber spatula she held as she listened, her hand pressing to her temple as the voice became louder and more angry. The ringing in her skull tore through her brain, an ache as strong as Robbie's visions had been spreading through her.

" _He's mine, Rachel. They both belong to me. And I get what I want."_

She dropped to her knees under the intense pressure, gripping the cabinet knobs with a silent gasp. The pain washed through her head and crept down her neck, raw and pulsing.

" _Don't try to stop me, because it'll only make things worse for you. And Sammy."_

"Jack," Rachel managed softly, biting against the pounding in her mind.

" _They will be mine for eternity. My two boys."_

"Jack!" she stammered loudly, trying to soothe herself but failing.

Within a moment, Jack and Robbie were in the kitchen. Robbie watched wide-eyed as Jack knelt down to Rachel. "What's wrong?" he asked, panicked.

"The voice … In my head …"

Robbie laid his hand on Rachel's forehead, shutting his eyes and concentrating hard. Slowly, the pain seeped away, the voice fading. When it was completely gone, Rachel looked up as Robbie withdrew his hand. She frantically checked him all over. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Robbie nodded. "Mommy, why were you talking to him?"

Rachel shook her head. "I wasn't talking to anyone, Robbie. They were talking to me."

"You can't talk to him!" Robbie shouted, his lips pressing together tightly, eyes narrowed. "He's bad!"

"Lucifer," Jack whispered with realization as he read Robbie's mind. He looked to Rachel, helping her stand. "What did he say to you?"

When his name was mentioned, Rachel immediately swallowed hard. "'He's mine,'" she repeated, looking between the two boys in front of her. "I thought Sam took care of him."

"He said he did," Jack replied with a nod.

"And anyway, why would I have heard him, even if he was somehow still alive? He's in another world."

Jack studied Rachel for a long moment. "Maybe your powers are surfacing."

Rachel shook her head. "But, how? I mean, I don't have grace."

"There might be enough left from your labor. And Robbie might have activated it."

Not fully convinced, Rachel took Robbie into her arms, needing the assurance of his security. If Lucifer could get into her head, he could get into Robbie's. And who knows what he'd say. "So … that's angel radio?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded.

"Well, it sucks."

"It's not painful with sufficient grace."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Mommy," Robbie urged, his voice more than panicked, "you _can't_ talk to him! He's bad!"

Rachel drew in a deep breath, remembering how Lucifer had deceived her before. "I know, baby. I wasn't." She kissed his forehead, her mind spinning. She needed Sam's counsel, but she couldn't let him know about the voice of Lucifer while he was five hours away. He'd never finish the job, which would only keep Robbie from being at peace. "Jack," she said firmly, "Sam can't know about this right now. No one can."

Jack's brow furrowed. "But—"

"No one," Rachel repeated. "That goes for you too, Robbie. I'll talk to him when he's back. I don't want to worry him right now." Reluctantly, Jack gave her a nod, watching as she pressed more kisses to Robbie's head. "Why don't you two go put on a movie? I'll be in there in a minute."

Rachel watched them flash away, sickness overcoming her. She shut her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Without Mary or even Bobby there, she was at a loss for what to do. If Lucifer could potentially take over her mind, or even pollute it, she was dangerous to Jack and Robbie. And they were in danger without protection. She needed backup, someone who knew how to keep the boys safe in Sam's absence.

It was a terrible idea, but the only viable one she had. With surrender, Rachel picked up her cell phone from the table, gritting her molars as she located the contact she needed. She waited as it rung, the silence surrounding her deafening.

The other end picked up. "Well, isn't this a surprise," Ketch said with a smirk.

Rachel rubbed her temples with a small groan. "Please don't make me regret this."

"It's been quite a while since anyone from Team Bunker has rung," Ketch continued. "Last person I'd expect to hear from is you."

"Yeah, well, think how I feel."

"Dunno, Pet. Perhaps you'd like to share that with me," Ketch said, his lips curling at the sides.

"Listen, douchebag, I only need you for a very brief, very specific task and amount of time."

Ketch laughed. "And your mighty Samuel isn't up to the task, I take it?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "He's indisposed."

"Ah. Please, go on."

She hesitated. _This was a mistake. You would've been fine on your own._ "Actually, I … I don't think I …"

"Rachel," Ketch interrupted, his tone surprisingly gentle, "there's a reason you called. Now, I gather that I wasn't your immediate choice, but for you to contact me, the issue would be rather large, I assume." She heard him take a couple steps. "So, let's attempt to set all history aside, shall we?"

Rachel drew in a breath. "It's Lucifer," she admitted.

Ketch's brow arched. "He's in another world, darling. Likely dead, thanks to Michael."

"He can't be dead," she argued. "Because …"

"Because why?"

"Because I hear him in my mind, okay?" she snapped under her breath, trying to keep her conversation hidden from Jack and Robbie.

Ketch was silent for a moment. "Interesting. You know, your pregnancy has given you quite the ability."

She shut her eyes. "I'm … I'm not pregnant anymore."

" … You lost the child?"

"What? No! I gave birth."

Ketch laughed. "That's quite amusing, really."

"I did."

"Perhaps you should avoid ringing me if you'd just like to yank my chain a bit."

"Ketch, I'm not lying," she nearly shouted, sucking in a breath. "Look, it's a pretty weird story, alright? But I had Robbie. He's alive, and so am I."

"And you're claiming to hear Lucifer? On angel radio? Sans angelic ability?"

"... I'm a nephilim."

She heard him scoff, then pace through a long moment of silence. "Well I'll be damned," he muttered.

"Please," Rachel whispered, "I just … I need someone here while Sam is gone to make sure I don't do anything to hurt them."

"Has Lucifer instructed you to do so?"

"No, but … It just doesn't feel right. I'd like backup."

Ketch nodded softly. "Alright," he agreed after a moment of silence. "I'll be straight over."

The line went dead, and Rachel lowered her phone from her ear with a heavy sigh. It was for Robbie's and Jack's protection. She had to keep that in her head. Otherwise, the idea of Ketch being so close without Sam as a buffer would make her ill.


	62. Chapter 62

It wasn't more than twenty minutes later that Ketch opened the front door. Rachel let go of the gun she rested her hand on as she sat at the maps table, watching as he descended the stairs. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?" he said with a smile, strolling over to her with his hands in his pockets.

"Don't make me shoot you," Rachel warned, standing up slowly. She felt his eyes languidly skim over her.

"You look quite well." Rachel didn't reply, glancing over her shoulder toward where Jack and Robbie were. "Where's the little one?"

"With Jack," she murmured, looking back at him.

"Right. So, Jack's the nanny, yeah? Interesting."

"Let's get one thing straight," Rachel snipped. "You're here as a buffer, and only until Sam gets back. No more. No less."

"Yes, I'm aware. Speaking of, you being a nephilim is quite the plot twist. I'm beginning to understand Arioch's obsessive interest in you." He smirked. "You know, beyond your physical attractiveness."

Rachel groaned, snatching up the gun and heading for the kitchen. Ketch footfalls echoed behind her; she tried to ignore them, and the dominating scent of his cologne. Tucking the gun in her jeans, she kept her back to Ketch as she unnecessarily fussed with the cooling cake. "This was a mistake," she muttered to herself.

"Tell me," Ketch continued, "when was the boy born?"

"... Two days ago."

Ketch cleared his throat. "Beg your pardon?"

"Two days ago," Rachel repeated, eyeing him as she turned.

"Forgive me, but I've never seen someone bounce back from birth so well so quickly, let alone to a nephilim with demon blood."

"Yeah, well, I'm lucky I guess."

"Right." Ketch sniffed, looking around. "So, where are the boys off to? I'd thought Sam would've chained you to his side."

"He's needed elsewhere," Rachel replied coolly.

"Elsewhere, as in where?"

He was interrupted by Jack and Robbie flashing in. "Is it time for cake?" Robbie asked excitedly, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Ketch. The boy's expression shifted dramatically; he blinked slowly, focusing on Ketch.

Ketch was equally as surprised. "Is this …?" He shifted his weight forward a hair, stunned. " _This_ is Robbie?"

As Ketch stepped toward him, Rachel crossed in front of him, hiding him behind her. "Don't," she warned, her voice cold. "You don't touch him."

Holding his hands up on surrender, Ketch backed away. "I won't come between a mother and her son. It's just fascinating. I mean, the lad was born two days ago."

"He grew," Jack said, eyeing Ketch. "As I did."

"Daddy said I shouldn't grow anymore," Robbie whispered behind Rachel, peeking out at Ketch.

Ketch studied Robbie, a smile tugging at his mouth. "And what do you think, chap?"

"I want to keep Mommy safe," Robbie murmured.

"Of course you do," Ketch nodded. "Good on you, Robbie." He straightened, looking at Rachel. "Fascinating. He's a handsome boy. Reminds me of his nostalgic father."

Rachel narrowed her gaze. "What's that suppose to mean?"

Ketch shrugged. "I'd say you're one white picket fence short of Sam's lifelong suburban life dream. But at what cost?"

"Enough," Rachel warned, venom emanating from her. "I'm warning you."

" _You_ called _me,_ Pet."

"It's okay," Jack said, stepping forward. He looked at Rachel, giving her a nod. "It'll be okay." Squatting down, he smiled at Robbie. "Why don't we go play tag again?"

"Okay!" Robbie replied, giddy as he vanished, Jack flashing away a beat later.

"Remarkable," Ketch murmured. "Demon blood with wings." He watched as Rachel busied herself with the few dishes in the sink, patient through her stiff silence. "So," he finally said, "you're afraid Lucifer will attempt to control you, is that it?"

"I just want them to be safe," Rachel replied, scrubbing the bowl she held harder than necessary.

"I've heard of angel radio being quite debilitating to young angels. Don't feel bad."

"I don't."

Ketch laughed through his nose. "You're practically advertising your guilt. It's nothing to be ashamed of, though."

Rachel dropped the soapy bowl, glaring at him as she dried her hands. "Why do you even care?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm beginning to wonder what your motive is."

Rubbing his brow, Ketch nodded. "I can't blame you for your reservations. Need I remind you, though, _you_ asked me for help. I'm merely offering my services."

"I guess I'm just surprised you want to."

"Why's that?"

"You went MIA as soon as you got back from the Apocalypse World. There's been a lot going on here, but you skipped town."

He pointed at her. "Not true," he corrected. "I helped Sam retrieve you from New York."

Rachel's memory of that time was hazy at best. "It doesn't make up for all the shit you've done. You're here because, yes—I'm desperate. I just want to know what's motivating you."

Ketch wet his lips, looking her over with a thorough gaze. "Perhaps my motivation is simply to help," he replied quietly. She was caught off guard by the softness in his voice. It made her more uncomfortable than his brashness did. "I'm not heartless, Rachel," he continued, taking a step toward her. She pressed against the counter as he bridged the gap, her lower back digging into the edge. "I'm human. I was concerned for you."

She swallowed hard. Despite the respectable distance he kept, he was far more invasive than he had ever been. And what was worse was, he seemed genuine, as if he did actually care. "After all," he added, laughing softly, "you ringing me is quite the desperate move. Made me realize you might _actually_ need help." Rachel's pulse quickened as Ketch took another step, the cedar notes from his cologne pronounced with the proximity. "I'd like to try to amend things. Put the past behind us. Not only for the sake of the boy, but for everyone involved."

"Why?" Rachel asked, her tone softer than she expected.

Ketch smiled. "Darling, Michael the bloody archangel is plotting to invade our earth. We'll all need each other. Even us." He seemed genuine for a change—even maybe a tiny bit tender. It was jarring. She felt like a deer in headlights, unsure what to say next. "The cake smells delightful," Ketch said, nodding to the pan behind her.

"Thanks," she replied, her voice shaky.

With one more step, he was within arm's reach. Why was he so close? And why wasn't she yelling at him to back off? "Are you alright?" he asked.

"F-Fine," she stammered.

"Good."

Rachel quickly slipped away toward the fridge, sticking her head inside after opening the door. _What the hell did I do by calling him? And why the hell is he trying to be nice?_ She looked at the small bottle of holy water on the shelf, snatching it up. Robbie and Jack would've seen a demon's face, but maybe somehow they couldn't. Uncapping it, she turned back to Ketch and sloshed the water toward him. It splattered over his shirt, wetting his face and neck, dripping on his collar.

He puckered his lips, chuckling. "I'm not a demon, Rachel," he assured, wiping off the water from his eyes with his sleeve.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment. Tossing the bottle onto the counter after capping it, she grabbed a fresh towel. "Here," she offered, dabbing at the water on his skin he failed to wipe.

Rachel wasn't aware of how close she was to Ketch until she stopped wiping him a few moments later, feeling his hand inadvertently skim her side as he lowered his arm from his face. "Thanks," he said, looking down at her.

She took a step back, nodding. "Sure. Uh, I …" Nipping at her bottom lip, she turned away from him. _What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On._ "I'll make dinner."

"It's two in the afternoon," Ketch said behind her.

"Right." Rachel kept her back to him, her fingers tightening around the towel. She did _not_ like Ketch. So why was she feeling the way she was around him? "Oh God," she whispered. Had Lucifer gotten in her head?

"What is it?" Ketch asked, stepping forward.

"N-nothing, I …"

Without finishing, Rachel bolted for the hall, moving with purpose toward hers and Sam's bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and immediately went for Sam's weapons. She had no idea what she was looking for, only that she needed to figure out why interacting with Ketch seemed so painfully awkward and weird.

A knock came at the door; it made her jump, her pulse quickening. "Rachel," Ketch said softly, "I've just come to see if you were alright."

"Fine," she replied, hating the lie. She was far from fine. She was completely and utterly confused. Rustling through the drawer, Rachel drew in a deep, shaky breath as she tucked a small folded knife in her back pocket. She paused, shutting her eyes. Ketch was being nice, and it was just plain weird. But that's all it was.

Emerging from the bedroom, she found Ketch waiting, hands in his pockets, brow arched. "You sure you're alright?" he asked.

Rachel nodded, passing him. She could hear Jack's laughter following Robbie's hearty giggles, the flapping of wings punctuating their game of tag. Jack was tackled by Robbie in the hallway; Rachel jumped, freezing as the two laid on the floor with wide smiles. "Boys," Rachel gasped, shutting her eyes as she tried to calm her pulse.

"Sorry," Jack laughed, helping Robbie to stand.

Rachel could help but smile back, seeing Robbie's proud look. "I won!" the boy announced, pumping his fist in the air. He was a miniature version of Dean in that moment. "Yes!"

"You're fast," Jack agreed, ruffling Robbie's hair.

"Mommy! Guess what I can do now?"

Rachel hesitated, hating how intently Ketch was watching. "What, baby?"

Robbie's nose scrunched as he focused, holding his hands out in front of himself. A large fireball launched from his palms, shooting across the hall into the concrete archway into the kitchen. "Robbie!" Rachel gasped, eyes wide as she saw the concrete crumble.

"Oops," Robbie murmured, looking down.

"It's okay," Jack assured, moving his hand slowly across the destruction, repairing it. "Remember," he said to Robbie, "you have to use control."

"Sorry," Robbie said, still upset.

Rachel squatted down in front of him. "Hey," she said, tipping his chin up, "it's okay. What you can do is amazing. And see?" She pointed to the wall. "Jack fixed it." She ran her hand over Robbie's hair, smiling at him. "You're not in trouble."

Robbie dared to look up into her eyes. "I'm not?"

"No, baby." He looked relieved, sighing. "Why don't you go have some quiet time, okay?"

"Can we watch a movie?"

"Sure. Go on."

Before she knew it, the two disappeared, their wings echoing behind them. "Absolutely fascinating," Ketch murmured. "He's a brilliant lad."

Rachel stiffened, a sudden protective urge overcoming her. She tried to find patience, reminding herself that she was the one who asked Ketch for help. "He is," she replied, heading for the kitchen, not bothering to see if Ketch followed.

"You're also a wonderful mother, as it seems," Ketch continued as he stepped in behind her, watching her dry the pots and pans she washed before.

"Thanks," she replied noncommittally.

Ketch laughed through his nose, nodding. "I don't suppose you believe it to be a genuine compliment, given our history."

Rachel turned, looking at him. Just as she was about to reply, a debilitating pain struck her between her brows. The pot she was holding clattered to the floor as she dropped to her knees, the force inside of her head knocking her nearly onto her face. Somewhere through the haze, she heard Ketch's voice pleading out to her, but she couldn't reply. Life moved in slow motion, drawn in languid, muddy strokes. Whiteness filled her vision, fully drowning out Ketch's hazy face.

She blinked, refocusing on the starkness in front of her. A silhouetted Lucifer stood in front of her with a casual air about him, his hands in his pockets. He clucked his tongue as he approached. "Naughty girl," he chided. "Sammy will be super mad that you called Ketch."

"What do you want?" she snarled, nostrils flaring.

"My boys," Lucifer replied with a shrug.

"They _aren't_ yours."

"Oh, but they are. See, Jack is legit mine, and Robbie … well, he's been mine a few times over, thanks to Sam making and breaking deals. But beyond that, he's my son Azazel's grandson, which I guess makes him my great grandson. So, yeah. Totes mine." Lucifer took a step toward her. "Now, be a good girl, and give them to me."

Rachel paused for a moment, eyeing him. "If you were able to do anything, you'd have already done it," she concluded, seeing his scowl. "You need me to say yes, to invite you in, don't you? So you can inhabit me?" She smirked. "Well, see … If I had a dick, this is where I'd tell you to suck it."

"Classy," Lucifer replied. "And you're right, sunshine. I can't do a lot on my own at the time being." He flashed closer to her, seizing her around her neck. She coughed, spluttering as he raised her off the ground. "But I can make your life a living hell. Just ask your fiancé. He knows all about what it's like to have me hanging out in your brain twenty-four seven." He grinned. "So, you can give me your vessel, I take the boys, and then I leave you alone. Or, you and I can cozy up and spend quality time together." Tugging her close, his smile widened. "A _lot_ of quality time together."

"Bite me," she rasped, fighting for air against his hold.

"Have it your way, cream puff," Lucifer said, leaning into her ear. "See you soon, Rach," he whispered. "Can't wait."

Rachel's eyes flashed open; she gasped for air, clinging on to Ketch as she coughed. "Rachel!" Ketch said frantically, holding her steady. "Say something!"

When she finally felt like she had enough oxygen back, she swallowed, looking up at Ketch as they knelt on the kitchen floor. Her heart raced, her fingers tight around his shirt. "I'm okay," she stammered, her quivering body betraying her. She could still hear the echoes of Lucifer's voice in her head. "I'm fine."


	63. Chapter 63

Sam knocked on Rex and Amanda Baker's front door, rattling the weathered wood. He withdrew his hand, unable to stop seeing Robbie's fearful look as he talked about the two people from his dream. He hadn't bothered to tell Castiel and Dean the source for his intel, instead saying it flashed up on one of his programmed alerts. Neither seemed to question him, so he didn't bother to tell them any differently.

A woman with graying dirty blonde hair tied into a loose bun answered, brushing her hands on the apron tied over her denim shirt and worn jeans. "Amanda Baker?" Sam asked.

"Who wants to know?" she asked back, suspicion in her eye.

The three each took out their badges. "I'm Agent Elliott," Sam said, "and this is Agent Russell and Agent Savage. FBI. We'd like to ask you some questions about the recent cattle mutilations."

"Why would the Feds care about our cows?" Amanda challenged.

"We've had other reports recently, so we're looking into the possibility of a connection."

With a slow nod, Amanda unlatched the screen door, letting the three in. Sam watched as she closed it behind them, smiling politely at her as she passed him. "Miss Baker, what can you tell us about the mutilations?"

"Who's in there?" an older man's voice called out. "Mandy? Who ya got in there?"

"The FBI," she called back, looking to the hall.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel watched as the old man shuffled into the room, his overalls more worn than his wrinkled face. "Rex Baker?" Sam asked, sticking his hand out. "I'm—"

"Don't care," the man said, waving him off. "You ain't got no business being here, bean pole."

"Sir," Dean said, clearing his throat, "we're attempting to catch whoever killed your livestock."

"Well, you dumbasses should've saved a trip," Rex scoffed, plopping down into a well-loved plaid recliner that said in front of the TV. He flicked it on, sighing as he settled in. The three watched in confusion.

"Mister Baker?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

Rex rolled his eyes. "I already know who did it, geniuses."

"Dad," Amanda snipped.

"Who did, then?" Dean asked Rex.

"Them witches that live on the east side of the town," Rex replied confidently. "They're no good, those Devil worshipers."

"They're Wiccans, Dad," Amanda corrected.

"Witches," he insisted. "They're using the blood of my cows for sacrifices."

"These witches," Dean said, looking between Amanda and Rex, "have they ever been an issue before?"

"No," Amanda replied. "They're pretty quiet."

"Quiet," Rex muttered. "Makes me sick. Here they are, flaunting their voodoo around. And nothing ever happens. Want to know why?" He jabbed a crooked finger out at the three of them. "Because you government people are too soft."

"Enough, Dad," Amanda warned. She looked to the three. "They're weird, but they've never done anything. I find it hard to believe they would, regardless of their religion."

"That's because you're soft like 'em!" Rex accused.

"Hush," Amanda snipped with a sigh. "They live off of Claymont Avenue, about three miles east of here."

"Was there anything odd at the scene?" Dean asked. "Any strange sounds or smells?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not that I noticed."

"And would anyone have any reason to lash out at you?" Sam asked.

"Well … we've got competition within ten miles. The Duley Farm. They run a much bigger operation than we do, though. Doesn't make much sense to attack us."

"Why you G-men still here?" Rex asked, eyeing them.

Sam's brow arched. Robbie had said the people were nice, but so far, the father was only hostile. "Thank you for your time," he said, glancing down at Rex, who gave him a small glare. Sam cleared his throat, fishing out a business card. "If you think of anything else, please give us a call."

With a silent nod, Amanda gestures to the door. The three left, Dean sighing as they approached the Impala. "Well, we've got witches or spiteful cattle farmers."

Sam shook his head. "It's not the witches."

Dean's brow raised. "And how do you know?"

With a swallow, Sam sat in the car, Castiel and Dean following suit. He felt Dean's expectant look as he wrestled with how to tell him. "Because Robbie said demons did it," he murmured.

"Wait … Robbie saw this?"

"Not exactly. I mean, maybe." Sam sighed, dropping his head back against the headrest. "He saw a woman and her dad dead by demons in a dream. So, I found these cattle mutilations and … and I hoped I was able to find them before they died."

Dean and Castiel were silent for a long moment. "Alright," Dean said with a nod. "We'll split up. Cas and I will take the witches, you go to the competition. Doubt they're involved, but we'll check it."

Sam glanced at Dean, surprised at the lack of outburst. "Aren't you going to tell me off for dragging you out here on a hunch?"

"Look," Dean said, taking a deep breath, "I can't begin to understand what Robbie can do. But I trust him, and I trust you. And there's obviously something going on. The kid is on to it. So, we take his lead."

With relief, Sam nodded. "Thanks for that." He felt the weight of his phone in his pocket, planning his check in to Rachel. "Alright, I'll get a car and we'll meet back at the diner we passed on the way in."

"You're going on foot?" Dean asked, confused as Sam opened the car door.

Sam shrugged. "It's only a couple miles back. It'll give me time to talk to check in with Rachel."

"Alright. Sounds good."

Dean watched Sam leave, tracking his path for a moment before he started the engine. "Dean," Castiel said softly, "if Robbie is having visions, they will only become stronger as he grows."

"Why's that a bad thing?" Dean asked. "Seems to be handling it okay."

"Do you remember how burdensome they were for Sam? There's no way that they will be any easier for Robbie, given his genetics."

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He ran his hand over his face. "What can we do? Is there anything?"

"I don't think so."

Looking in the direction Sam went, Dean swallowed hard and put the car in reverse. "Well, if it goes south, we do whatever it takes."

* * *

Sam pressed his phone to his ear as he saw the small stretch of town come into view. Waiting through the rings felt like eternity. "Hello?" she heard Rachel ask, nearly out of breath as she let go of Ketch and stood, still overwhelmed by what she heard in her head.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Sam asked quickly, swallowing as he froze on the side of the road.

Rachel's lips parted. "Sammy," she whispered with relief. She shut her eyes, pressing against the concrete on shaky legs, feeling Ketch watching.

"Rachel, what's going on?"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not." Sam felt panicked, every worst case scenario running through his head. "Tell me."

"Really," Rachel insisted, forcing a smile so it would read in her tone, "I'm okay. Just got done chasing Robbie and Jack in tag." She hoped her laugh didn't sound as fake as it felt. "You okay?"

Sam silently studied the small slice of town he could see in the distance for a moment. He wasn't convinced, but he had to try to be for the time being. After all, she was in the bunker. What could get her in there? "Yeah. We're splitting up. Two possible leads. Dean and Cas are taking the more likely one."

"Why?"

"You know how Dean is."

Rachel looked to Ketch, whose brow arched. "Yeah."

"You sure you're alright?" Sam asked, a pit still in his stomach.

"I'm fine, dufus," she laughed, the lie just as painful as the throbbing in her head. "Let me guess—you'll be staying overnight."

Sam wet his lips, slowly resuming walking. "Unfortunately."

"It's okay, I figured."

"Look, I can—"

"No way. I'm fine, Sammy. Just go gank some demons, okay?"

"I'd rather be home with you."

"Well, that's comforting."

Sam laughed. "Do you know how much I miss you right now?"

"Oh really?"

"Oh yeah." Sam's tone darkened; Rachel turned away from Ketch, her cheeks heating. "I have a laundry list of things I'm planning for you when I come home. The first one involves a full body massage."

She couldn't help but genuinely smile at his affection. "Interesting," she murmured.

"Oh, it will be."

Rachel could feel Ketch's gaze biting into her from behind. "Then hurry up."

Sam smirked. "How's Robbie? Still mad?"

"He seems fine. Jack has been showing him a lot." Rachel paused. "Hey, did you know Robbie can throw fireballs?"

"Wait, what?!"

"Yeah. Apparently he can shoot fire. Crushed a concrete wall. But Jack fixed it."

Sam rubbed his brows with his free hand. "So, he's got wings, resurrection powers, levitation, and now fireballs?"

"Plus the mind moving stuff and the visions."

"Holy shit."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah."

Robbie's abilities scared the crap out of Sam, not for his own sake or for anyone who lived at the bunker, but for both of their enemies that he shared equal genetics between. "I need you to rest," he instructed. "You just had a baby. Let Jack take the lead."

"I'm okay," she assured.

"Sweetheart, let Robbie bunk up with Jack tonight. Promise me you'll get some rest."

"I will," she assured quietly, noticing how the light caught the angles of her engagement ring. With a subtle glance over her shoulder, she saw how Ketch studied her hand, quickly realizing why he was so intent on it. "I have to go," she murmured. "Please be safe. Text me when you settle in for the night."

"Will do. Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too, Sammy."

Rachel hung up her phone, trying to draw up the courage to turn around to Ketch. Slowly but surely, she turned, seeing him leaning casually against the counter. His gaze was accompanied by a small scowl he failed to fully conceal. "I see he's made it official," he noted with a slight nod to her hand.

"You knew?" Rachel asked, perplexed.

"No, but as I said before, your fiancé is a very idealistic man."

"You think it won't work."

"What I think is inconsequential," Ketch replied, stepping near her. "The question is, do _you_ think it will?"

Rachel felt a lump form in her throat. The last few days had swirled around her like a vortex, consuming all prolonged thinking. She hadn't considered too much about the practicality or workability of marriage to Sam. "I love him," she answered, grounding herself a bit against the ache in her head.

"I've no doubt of your affection for him," Ketch continued, taking a step closer, "but I do doubt your confidence in this new life direction you're taking."

"What's with all the Doctor Phil crap?" Rachel demanded with a scoff. "Why care so much all of a sudden?"

"What can I say? I'm a concerned friend."

"You're the furthest thing from a friend," Rachel snipped.

"I'll try not to be too offended as I stand here, willingly helping you per _your_ request."

Rachel bit back her bitter reply, looking into Ketch's dark eyes. He was right, she had called him. Still, his insistence on personal involvement was jarring. "I'm marrying Sam," she insisted, trying to ignore how Ketch casually bridged the gap as she pawed at her dark hair that draped over her shoulder.

Ketch's soft smile made her hesitate. "Admitting you're scared doesn't make you wrong. There's no shame in fear."

Her heart pounding with the same strength as her head, Rachel swallowed, allowing Ketch to come stand directly in front of her. "I'm not afraid," she whispered, not even believing herself. She could hear his steady breath, and smell his cologne with the proximity. His body heated radiated off of him, a warmth that prickled gooseflesh over her skin.

His smile grew, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Are you sure?"

Her lip threatened to quiver. Was she sure? Why was Ketch's presence throwing everything off for her? Since the moment he stepped into the bunker, he did nothing but confuse the shit out of her. Her stomach knotted, and words wouldn't come. No, she really wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about anything. Ever since Robbie brought her back, as a preschooler, she had been confused, scared, and out of place. Was she not meant to come back? Was this all a sign? "I don't …" She tightened her hand around the counter behind her, shutting her eyes. She needed Sam. She needed to talk to him about all of these fears Ketch somehow brought to the surface. All she had was Ketch, though, who intently waited for her to reply.

Ketch dared to reach out and stroke her cheek and across her jaw. Rachel's eyes flashed open, her mouth gaped, too stunned to speak. His touch was warm, his fingertips softer than Sam's. His languid caress was uncomfortably foreign, his evident curiosity reflected back in his eyes. He seemed confident, calm, sure of his boldness. A sickness washed over her, and she forced herself out of her shock, backing up with a swallowed gasp. "What the hell are you doing?" she whispered, her breath quickening.

Ketch lowered his hand, watching her. "As I said, I'm concerned for you."

"Well, don't be," Rachel countered, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Rachel—"

"I think you should leave."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I don't care."

Ketch lifted his chin a little. "Have you ever considered that there are more than just angels and demons after your boy? The Elders of the Men Of Letters Are surely are chomping at the bit to take possession of him."

Rachel's brow arched. "So what? And anyway, they're defunct now."

"Still, it's in your best interest to ally yourself with many different people, including myself."

"I'll take my chances," Rachel replied coolly. She tried to erase his touch from her face, hating how desperate she was for Sam's presence.

Robbie flashed into the room, standing next to Rachel. He tugged on her tee shirt. "Mommy," he said, "can I have a snack?"

Still stunned from Ketch's forwardness, she nodded softly, tearing her eyes away from Ketch to look down at Robbie. "Sure," she said, swallowing as she caught a glimpse of Ketch moving toward the table. "Just go wait with Jack and I—"

"Jack's talking to Maggie," Robbie groaned, sticking out his tongue. "Yuck."

Rachel's brow wrinkled. "But … he doesn't have a phone."

"He went out. He said he'll be back in a minute."

Rachel's eyes rounded. "What?!"

Robbie gulped. "Sorry, Mama."

Furious, Rachel swiped at her face. Jack was MIA, likely because he was angry at Castiel, Dean, and Sam. Still, she had entrusted Robbie to him. The night was turning into a bigger mess by the second. "I'm not …" She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm not mad at you, Robbie. I'm mad at Jack." With a sigh, she rubbed her brows. "Okay, well, just go wait by the TV and—"

Rachel stopped as the same piercing pain from before struck her eyes. She heard Robbie's faint pleading as she cowered over, the blast of piercing ringing from Lucifer accompanied by a dark rumble of laughter. "I can do this forever, Rachey-Poo," he taunted in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, gasping against the excruciating ache, the intense pitch increasing with every beat of her heart.

As Ketch stepped forward, Robbie froze him, his invisible grip tight and sure. "Robbie," Ketch managed, his lungs compressed from the boy's power, "let … me … help her."

"She doesn't like you!" Robbie growled, his tiny nostrils flaring as he tightened his grip. "Neither does Daddy!"

Ketch winced. "Yes, well … and you look … an awful lot … like him … right now." He swallowed, trying to press forward. "Just let me …" Before he could finish, Robbie rested his hand on Rachel's head. "No!" Ketch argued, fighting his bonds. "Don't, Robbie!"

"Well, well, well," Lucifer crooned as Robbie tried to heal Rachel, connecting with him. "Hello, Junior."

"Leave her alone," Robbie snarled, fighting against Lucifer's power, slowly gaining.

Lucifer laughed. "Oh, you're so cute! And strong too. You must eat your Wheaties like a good boy."

"Leave Mommy alone!"

"I would, but your mommy didn't listen. So, bad girls get punished." Lucifer increased his force in Rachel's head, eliciting a desperate scream from her as he laughed. "You're pretty good, but I'm stronger than you, Robbie."

Tears rolled down Robbie's cheeks as he struggled to help his mother. "Stop!"

Lucifer chuckled. "Nah. This is fun. You should lean into your Daddy's genes and try it sometime." Robbie's face wrinkled as he tried to counter Lucifer's energy, failing. "Speaking of, why don't you go ahead and tell Daddy how Mommy is? After all, I bet he's the one that stopped you from growing, isn't he? So, it's his fault she's dying."

With a high-pitched scream, Robbie focused his energy and blasted Lucifer's power back, unwrapping Rachel from the hallucination. The force of his energy tossed Rachel's body against the opposite wall with a harsh thud, her head slamming into the concrete. Lifeless, she slumped to the floor, face down as Robbie panted.


	64. Chapter 64

Ketch desperately tried to free himself to no avail, eyes wide as he watched Rachel, seeing no signs of life. "Robbie, please," Ketch managed. "Please … let me … check your mother."

Furrowing his brow, Robbie released Ketch, watching as he scrambled to Rachel. Ketch pressed his fingers to Rachel's neck, waiting. He shut his eyes in relief when he felt a faint pulse. "Alright," he said, taking her into his arms. Her head lulled against his chest as he stood. "I'm going to make your mother comfortable," he told Robbie, who watched intently. "Are you alright?" Robbie hesitated, then nodded. "Good. Now, be a good lad and stay put. I'll be back in a moment, yeah?"

Ketch hoisted Rachel up a little as he fumbled with the knob on room 21, exhaling when it twisted open. The room was far from cozy, but it clearly had a woman's influence. It smelled feminine, bits of lavender lingering in the air. The bed was neatly made, everything in order. He knew Sam wasn't sloppy like Dean, but it was even a little too nice for him.

Approaching the bed, Ketch gently laid Rachel's body down, shutting his eyes with a deep exhale. He didn't know how long she'd remain unconscious for, but he knew she would be more than irritated when she woke. He brushed her hair from her eyes and studied her for a long moment, taking in the details of her face, noting the residual tiredness she tried to hide with bits of concealer. She was young—eight years Sam's junior, if he remembered correctly. For having had a child a few days prior, there were no outward indications of her pregnancy ever existing, save for her chest area. He wondered idly if Robbie had anything to do with that.

His eyes traced her curves, allowing himself a prolonged moment to appreciate them. There was no way to deny her being a beautiful woman. She was lush, a fresh summer peach, juicy and soft with hair he wanted to sink his hands into. As Ketch let himself drink in the details, he realized just how much he envied Sam. Somehow, the daft fool had managed to convince a beautiful, intelligent women to throw her life away to be with him. Sam Winchester didn't deserve such a rare commodity like Rachel Lentz. After all, look what he did to her. Just by being associated with him, her life was miserable, the devil himself now boring into her brain. She deserved better, a life where she could hunt as she was meant to, and live carefree outside of it. He could tell she'd be excellent in the field, even without seeing her in action. And despite her stubborn nature that irked him, he couldn't deny having fantasies of her otherwise.

Craning his head to the side, he rolled his shoulders with a sniff. Right now, he couldn't afford his jealousy or lust, no matter how strong they were. The boy was powerful and invasive. A little immature nuisance, but an extremely valuable one. He would be useful against Michael. If Robbie managed to fight Lucifer's power as a mere child, he couldn't imagine what he was capable of as an adult. That kind of power was undoubtedly what Lucifer sought, trying to manipulate Rachel in order to gain it. Between Robbie and Jack, Lucifer would have an unbeatable army. Rachel had mentioned she, herself, was a nephilim. Her lineage must have been quite high ranking to produce such a powerful son.

Ketch gently left the door cracked as he exited the room, sighing when he saw Robbie standing in the kitchen. Children weren't his forte in the slightest, not even Rachel's. "Now," he said, looking down at Robbie, "you're alright?"

Robbie nodded, his stare unsettling to Ketch. "Is Mommy okay?"

"She'll be alright. She hit her head quite hard, but she will wake soon."

"I didn't mean it," Robbie sniffed.

The boy's emotion made Ketch squirm. "Yes, well, it'll be fine." He cleared his throat. "Right then. You wish to have a snack, yes?"

"Yes, please."

With a nod, Ketch opened the fridge, spotting an apple. He snagged it, tossing it to Robbie, who caught it easily. "Very good," he said, watching the boy bite into it. "So, tell me what you did to Lucifer."

Robbie slowly chewed on his apple piece. "Why?"

Ketch shrugged. "I'm curious to know." He paused for a moment. "After all, it's not every day that you meet a superhero," he offered, trying to sound genuine, but sounding very forced.

"I'm not a superhero," Robbie mumbled through another bite.

"Surely you know how powerful you are, though."

"Daddy says I'm good."

Ketch smirked, imagining how livid Sam would be to know he was alone with his son, after just carrying his fianceé to bed. "Well, he's right," he replied.

"Why don't you like him?"

"Your father and I … Well, we've been through some rough moments, I suppose."

"Mommy thinks your slimy."

Ketch rolled his eyes. "Lovely."

"But she called you to help," Robbie continued.

"She did."

Robbie's eyes narrowed at Ketch as he thought through a pause. "You like Mommy a lot."

Ketch scoffed. "Don't be absurd. I'm merely concerned for your mother, is all."

The boy wasn't convinced. "I can hear it in your head. Is that why you don't like Daddy? Because Mommy doesn't like you?"

"No," Ketch snipped. "I don't care for your father, because he's irresponsible. He's far too sentimental for the job." He lifted his chin as Robbie remained silent. "You're living proof of that."

"My Daddy is _good,"_ Robbie warned, eyeing Ketch.

"Yes, well, good or not, your father has made plenty of mistakes."

"He's _not_ bad."

Ketch sighed. "Along with his hair, I see you inherited his blind devotion as well."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Robbie remained silent for a long moment. "What are you doing?" Ketch asked, feeling a bit panicked.

Robbie opened his eyes a moment later. "I talked to Daddy."

"You what?"

"I sent Daddy a text on Mommy's phone. Uncle Jack taught me how."

"You …" Ketch pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "That was a terrible decision, Robbie."

"Uncle Jack said it was okay if you know them."

"Yes, well, your mother will be livid."

"What's livid?"

"Angry. She will be angry."

"Oh." Robbie chewed on another bite of apple with a shrug. "Well, I told Daddy to come home. Because I don't like you. You're weird."

With a sigh, Ketch sat. "You're quite the little devil, aren't you?" He rolled his eyes as Robbie stared at him while chewing. "Bloody swell. I do hope your mother wakes soon. This is a hell of a lot more than I bargained for." Only a few moments later, Rachel's cell phone rang on the table. "Right on time," he muttered, seeing Sam's number come up.

Before Ketch could stop him, Robbie slid the phone to him with his mind and picked it up, answering it. He froze Ketch in place and silenced him as he pressed the phone to his ear. "Rachel?!" Ketch heard Sam ask in a panic on the other end, despite the distance Robbie made between them.

"Daddy, it's me," Robbie answered.

Sam sighed in relief as he drove. His son was just calling behind Rachel's back. "Robbie, did you send that text?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, first of all … how do you know how to text?"

"Uncle Jack told me."

Sam scoffed. "Of course he did. Where's Mommy?"

"Sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Sam glanced at the dashboard clock. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon.

"Yeah. She fell asleep after she hit her head."

"What?!" Sam asked, his eyes rounding as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Robbie pursed his lips. "I tried to make him stop, but he was really strong."

"Who was?!"

"I didn't mean it though, Daddy."

"Mean what?!"

"Uncle Jack said he'd be back soon, but the weird man won't leave," Robbie continued, despite Ketch's silent struggle behind him. "I don't like him. I've got him stuck. So, can you come home now?"

Sam was nearly hysterical as he skidded the rental car to a halt on the side of the road, throwing it into park. His palm was coated in sweat. "Robbie," he said, trying to remain calm, "tell me what's going on. Who is there with you?"

Robbie looked over to Ketch, who wriggled under his hold. "He has hair like Mommy's. And he talks funny. Mommy doesn't like him, but she got scared, so she called him."

Sam swallowed hard, tugging at his hair as he racked his brain. His eyes widened as he realized there was only one person who fit that slightly vague description. "Ketch," he murmured, his pulse climbing. What was Ketch doing there? Why was Rachel scared? "Did he hurt you? Or Mommy?"

"No. He brought Mommy to her room after she went to sleep."

His stomach knotting at the thought of Ketch anywhere near her or their son, Sam shut his eyes. "Okay, listen to me—I'm coming back, alright? Go lock yourself in with Mommy, and don't come out until I get home. Bring the phone with you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Go now, but stay on the phone with me."

Robbie glanced back at Ketch, who struggled silently under the boy's power. "I'm scared, Daddy," he whispered as he walked away toward the bedroom.

"It's okay, buddy," Sam assured, tears forming in his eyes. His arm shook as he clenched the phone. "You're gonna be just fine, alright?"

"Okay," Robbie sniffed.

"Listen to me," Sam urged, hearing the quake in Robbie's voice, "you're going to be fine. I promise."

"Daddy!" Robbie said, stopping. "I have the best idea! I can grow!"

Jaw ticking, a tear rolled down Sam's cheek. "No. You don't need to, okay? I'm coming home right now. You just keep talking to me." He glanced at the clock as he threw the car into drive, making a sharp U-turn and heading east. It would take between four to five hours, but there was no way in hell Sam wasn't going to his family. "You in the room yet, buddy?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, lock the door, okay?"

Robbie clicked it shut with his mind. The use of his power freed Ketch, who tried to catch his breath in the kitchen. "Okay, I did it."

"Good job," Sam said, trying to stay calm for his son. "Is Mommy still sleeping?"

The boy glanced over at Rachel's lifeless body. "Yeah."

Sam wet his lips. "Is she breathing?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Now—-" Before he could finish, Sam had to slam on the brakes to avoid a woman who appeared out of seemingly nowhere in the road. Tires squealing, he stopped the car within inches of the woman. His heart raced; it was a close call.

"Daddy?" Robbie asked, bringing Sam back to the present.

"I'm here, buddy. I, uh, I … I'm here." He mouthed that he was sorry to the woman, beginning to drive around her when his car failed. All controls were gone. "What the hell?" he whispered, the car rolling to a stop. His eyes widened as he looked back up, seeing the woman's eyes flash black.

"Daddy?" Robbie asked, listening as he heard the door slam and Sam's groans from fighting muffled on the other end. "Daddy!" he shouted, his green eyes rounding. The other end went eerily silence, the struggle and any sign of Sam's presence seeming to vanish. " _Daddy_!"

* * *

"Dean," Castiel said as they got out of the car, looking toward the house where the Wiccan sisters, Isabelle and Portia Sachar, lived. "Have you heard from Sam?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet. He'll check in when he's done. He always does." He sighed, looking at the house with a slight squint. "Witches, man," he grumbled. "Hate witches."

"These women are Wiccans," Castiel corrected.

"Same thing."

"It's not, really. Not like you're used to. According to the Google, they use natural magic for selfless purposes."

Dean rolled his eyes, shutting the Impala driver's side door. "Whatever. Still a witch." He tucked his gun loaded with witch killing bullets into his waistband, heading toward the house.

"I tried to communicate with Jack, but he isn't replying," Castiel admitted.

"He's still ticked?"

"I guess."

"Damn. Didn't know he was that petty."

"Me either."

Approaching the front door, Dean knocked on the purple painted wood, waiting with an impatient tap of his foot on the porch floorboards. When the door opened, he took in the slender blonde who answered. Brow arched, his expression shifted, and he cleared his throat. "Isabelle Sachar?" he asked.

"Portia," the woman corrected. "And you are?"

Dean took out his badge, showing the woman through the screen door. "Agent Russell, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Savage. We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding your neighbors' cattle being mutilated."

Portia Sachar eyed him, giving him a tiny scowl. "Let me guess—you think we did it." She laughed softly. "You and everyone else in town."

"May we come in?" Castiel asked.

"No," Portia said.

"No?" Dean asked.

"Look, unless you have a warrant, we can talk outside. Besides, you have a really crappy aura, buddy." She looked over at Castiel, her face softening. "Yours is different, though."

"Thank you," Castiel said with a small nod. "It's more than likely because I'm an angel of the Lord."

Portia laughed unabashedly, looking between Dean and Castiel. She slowed, stopping when they didn't follow suit. "You're serious," she said, her fair brow wrinkling.

"I am."

"Uh huh." Portia eyed them.

"You're in tune with magic, yes?" Castiel asked. Portia nodded. "Did you use it to summon demons?"

"What?" Portia scoffed. "No! I use it to sell overpriced herbs to modern day hippie moms who want their kids to chill out." Dean eyed her, and Portia folded her arms over her chest. "What? It's a business." She looked to Castiel. "Seriously, what coven are you from? That's intense stuff you've got going on."

"So you didn't summon demons?"

"No!" Portia glanced around Dean, lowering her voice. "But the Duley Farm people? Weird as hell."

"Weird how?" Dean asked.

"They just give me the creeps."

"Perhaps," Castiel said in a low whisper to Dean, "it's because she's spiritually sensitive."

"She's a weed dealer," Dean argued.

"I can hear you, you know," Portia said with a scowl. "I don't sell marijuana, thanks."

"Giving you the creeps isn't enough," Dean said to her. "See anything weird? Smell anything weird?"

Portia put her hands on her hips. "What kind of Feds are you?"

"The kind that don't answer those kind of questions."

Portia rolled her eyes. "No wonder your aura is shit. Although, now that you mention it, I was picking juniper on the state field across from one of their plots of land, and their fields stunk like rotten eggs."

"Sulfur," Dean murmured.

"Juniper is quite effective for balancing the kidneys," Castiel added.

Dean looked at him, shaking his head. "Dude." He looked back to Portia. "What can you tell me about Duley Farm?"

"Um … well, we've been here for about five years now. They came about two years ago and hit it really big. Expanded all over the county."

"Uh huh." Dean gave Castiel a knowing look. Sudden expansion not predicted could only mean one thing-a demon deal made. Alright, well, thanks."

Dean started to leave, Portia stopping him. "I wasn't kidding about your aura," she said. "Want to try some pink Himalayan salt?"

"No thanks," Dean said with a raised brow. "I'm good. I like my aura nice and crappy."

Castiel followed Dean off the porch, sighing. "She was only trying to help."

"Wow." Dean shook his head. "I mean it, next time, you're solo." He paused with suddenness. Sam had gone to the farm. Alone. "Ah, shit. Sam." He snagged his phone, dialing Sam's number as he got into the driver's seat. He felt like he waited through the rings for forever. "Dammit, Sammy! Pick up!" With a growl, he shoved the phone into his pocket when Sam's voicemail came on. The Impala tires spun as he tore off toward Duley Farm.


	65. Chapter 65

Sam slowly blinked his eyes open, a dull ache clinging to his temples as he focused on the dirt floor below his legs. Straw was scattered about, bits of it stuck to his jeans. He remembered the moments before he was knocked out, then a brief slip of time before he was knocked out again. Two demons dragged him through the barn, a third slamming a shovel against his head as he tried to fight. He rotated his wrists against the cuffs that bound his arms behind his back. The metal bit into his skin, leaving no room to slip them. His back was pressed against a thick pole he was wrapped around as he sat on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of himself. A stickiness smeared on the back of his head as he raised it and rested it against the pole.

He was alone for a few moments, which gave him time to survey his situation. His phone was gone, his weapons too, leaving him with nothing but his wits … if he could manage to free himself. It wasn't very promising.

Immediately, he thought of Robbie and Rachel, remembering his son's desperate scream he heard over the phone before he was rendered unconscious. He remembered how Robbie was frightened for Rachel, who he said was injured. Not knowing what the little boy fully meant killed him. Sam bit the inside of his cheek, managing to keep his tears at bay. The demons wanted his family, but they weren't going to get them. It was that simple. He chose to focus on the memory of laying in bed with both of them, holding them as they slept, and of him kissing Rachel as he held Robbie. If he would die tonight—which he would before saying a word about Rachel or Robbie—then those were the images he wanted in his mind's eye.

Sam kept his eyes on the floor despite the footsteps that he heard approaching. Straw crunched underneath boots, growing louder with each step. Sam shifted his gaze upward, seeing a broad man with spiky hair looking down at him. "Sam Winchester," the demon smirked with a chuckle, his eyes flashing red for a moment before returning to their normal hue. "Ooh, are you popular these days. I hear you've got yourself an adorable little family." The demon waited, seeing no change in Sam's expression. He nodded. "Expected. Not like I ever thought you'd cough them up. Hell, you'd rather die, wouldn't you?" The demon stuffed his hands in his pockets. "But I knew this would get your attention. You'd do anything to keep your boy safe, huh? Cute." The demon leaned in intimately toward Sam, smirking. "Except, he's not yours," he continued, his voice softer. "He's our Prince. The heir to the throne."

Sam watched in silence as the demon pulled back and paced a little. "So," the demon said with a sigh, "you're going to want this the hard way? Or the even harder way?" He looked at Sam, who remained unchanged, save for the tick in his jaw and the little flaring of his nostrils. "Alrighty." The demon clapped his hands together. "Let's do a little warm-up, boys."

Two more demons appeared from the shadows, one flipping open a thick, invasive-looking hunting blade. Sam watched, trying to prepare himself for the beginning of the end, unable to help his groan as the blade was lodged into his right thigh. The demon shoved the knife to its hilt, laughing as Sam shook and roared in pain. With a rough yank, the blade was removed, eliciting another groan from Sam. A moment later, the blade pierced through his left thigh. Sam's cry resounded through the barn, stifled as he sucked in deep breaths of air to fight it. "Just so you don't feel like running if you happen to Houdini yourself somehow," the spiky-haired demon explained. "Last chance," he said as the blade was removed, watching Sam writhe and shake with the pain.

"Go fuck yourself," Sam seethed, gritting his teeth as blood leaked from both of his legs.

"Nah," the demon said with a grin. "I'll just fuck your hot little girlfriend." He laughed as Sam yanked against his cuffs, seeing the fire in his eyes. "There he is. That's the Sam Winchester I've heard of." With a grin, he continued, loving how riled Sam got. "Lucifer said she's a real sexy piece of ass. Mmm. "

"You can stick that knife in every inch of me," Sam growled, his upper lip curling, "but I won't tell you a damn thing."

The demon nodded. "Like I said, I'm aware. I just promised Rick and Mel over here a little fun before we got down to business." Before he could turn away, the knife sliced across Sam's face, making him groan. "After all, all work and no play makes demons really cranky."

Sam spit out the blood that leaked over his mouth, watching as the other demon lifted a pointed iron. "The cattle business is very demanding, Sam," the spiky haired demon continued, taking the iron and examining it. "You humans sure do like your burgers." He ran his hand over it, watching it light up, building a steady heat until it glowed white hot. "There's a thing or two I've learned from it, though. The first being the exact temperature that will burn through flesh to the bone."

The iron crashed against Sam's shoulder. Sam immediately groaned in agony, his shirt smoking as the iron was pressed into his flesh. The pain was unlike any other, the tissue and muscle being melted away by the blazing hot iron. They kept the iron in his shoulder for what seemed like forever. When they finally removed it, he gasped and shook, the shock flowing over him. His eyes lulled shut, his shoulder immediately useless. The demons laughed. "Hell, this is fun," the spiky haired one grinned, seeing Sam slowly open his eyes. Between his blood loss and the burn, Sam was barely able to focus. "But pretty soon, he won't be able to participate. Pathetic."

Sam gagged against the knot in his stomach from the pain, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on tasting Rachel's lips, feeling Robbie cling to him as he held him close. His hair stuck to his brow as his head drooped, only lifting it when he heard the pleas of a young woman. Though he felt like death, some of his adrenaline kicked in when he saw the girl. She wasn't much older than Hailey, Rachel's cousin, was. "Phase Two," the demon said proudly. Sam watched enraged as the others held her across from him. "You're right—I could destroy every molecule in you, and you wouldn't say a word," the demon said as he moved toward Sam, squatting down in front of him. "But what about if I destroy her instead? Hmm?" Sam clenched his jaw, fighting as best as he could. "What if I end her innocent life right now? Would you let her die for your son?"

Sam felt like he wanted to hurl, seeing the panic in the girl's eyes. "Let her go," he warned with a snarl.

"Give me a reason to, Sam," the demon countered. Sam remained silent, unable to speak though he saw the terror in the girl's eyes. His stomach bottomed out. In that moment, it was the worst pain imaginable. His silence would protect Robbie, but would kill an innocent person. No matter what he chose, someone would die.

Sam yelled as one of the demons raised their knife. "No!" he screamed, shutting his eyes as the demons slit her throat. "You son of a bitch!"

"I can do this all night, Sam," the demon said as he straightened. Sam watched in pain as the demons dragged the girl's body away, tossing her aside with no respect at all. "How many more people are going to die for the boy?"

Shutting his eyes, he tried to see Rachel's face, failing as the tears leaked out from his lids. His eyes flashed open as he heard another person being dragged in, a teenaged boy. "Tell me where he is," the demon said, crouching down in front of him. "Tell me where you're hiding my prince."

Sam locked eyes with the teen across from him, tears slipping down his cheeks. Was his son's life worth however many deaths he could witness that night? The guilt festered inside of him, knowing that even if people had to die, he couldn't give Robbie up. He wouldn't. He groaned as the demons slit the teen's throat, throwing his body next to the girl's. "I'll kill you all," he warned, bitterness and rage flowing through him.

"I've got plenty more where they came from," the demon said with a smirk. "Hell, I've got a whole country. A whole _world_ , Sam." The demon crouched down next to him. "I've got seven billion people I can kill for your one little bastard boy." The idea nearly made Sam hurl. "Is that what you want?"

Before Sam could answer, the barn doors flew open, Dean and Castiel busting through. Dean used the demon blade he wielded, shoving it into the demon closest to him as Castiel killed the other with his angel blade. Dropping their bodies, Dean looked up to the last demon, who held a gun against Sam's head. Dean hesitated, seeing the big stains of blood over his brother, smelling the sick scent of scorched flesh from the gaping hole in his shoulder. "Now," the demon said, "blades down, or I cap him."

"Cap him?" Dean scoffed. "What are you, Al Capone?"

The demon smirked. "Cute. But believe me, I could truss you up the same way and still have my fun. How many people could _you_ let die before you'd give me the boy, huh?" He cocked the gun, seeing Dean's flicker of hesitation. "Or would it just take this one?" He gestured with his chin. "Blades down, boys." With a smirk, he watched as Castiel tried to force him off of Sam, failing. "Aww, the little angel is having trouble. Did you honestly think you could beat the warding? Now, blades down."

Reluctantly, Dean and Castiel tossed their blades down, Dean gritting his teeth as the demon whacked Sam in the head with the butt of his gun, knocking him out. "I expected your brother to last a little longer," he sighed. "But, you know, you can't always believe the hype." The demon's eyes flashed red as he looked at Dean. "So," he continued, "why don't you tell me where your nephew is, and no one else has to die?"

"Why don't you kiss my ass?" Dean countered, groaning as two demons took ahold of him, another two on Castiel.

The demon near Sam clucked his tongue. "Shame you boys don't do what's right here. A lot of blood will be spilled for the little guy."

"Only yours."

"Oh really?" The demon smirked. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I've got friends in weird places," Dean replied, grinning back at him.

The demon's eyes rounded as the two sister witches came in with large buckets, sloshing holy water over the others who held Dean and Castiel. The demons shrieked, releasing them and giving them enough time to take up their blades and end all four of them. Before the spiky haired demon could use it, Portia cast a spell, turning his gun into molten hot liquid. Dean charged after the demon, Castiel successfully spreading his wings behind him as light flowed around him. "Close your eyes!" he warned. The sisters and Dean shut their eyes, hearing how Castiel ended the demon by explosion as it screeched.

When the light faded, they opened their eyes. Dean raised a brow at Castiel. "Faking performance issues," he said with a nod of approval. "I like it." He glanced to the sisters, who swallowed hard as they took in the scene. "Thanks, ladies. The water and the warding removal was really handy."

"Sure," Portia said softly, eyes wide as she looked around. "Just … don't ever come back here again, 'kay? We like our town nice and quiet."

Dean nodded. "Fair enough." He watched them leave, shrugging. "Okay, some witches aren't bad," he decided to himself.

Castiel moved to Sam's side as he roused awake, easing him as he jumped with a snarl. "Easy, Sam," he urged. Concentrating his power, he slowly rebuilt Sam's shoulder, then sealed his knife wounds, finally unlocking him from the cuffs and helping him stand. Dean steadied Sam as he rose to his feet.

"Whoa," he murmured, seeing the residual paleness in his brother's face as Sam struggled to move ahead. "Slow down."

"Rachel's hurt," Sam managed, coughing as he tried to step beyond Dean's hold.

"Easy," Dean repeated firmly. "We checked in with her. She's okay."

Sam looked down at Dean. "She's alright?"

Dean nodded. "Her and Robbie are fine. You just need to take it easy."

Sam shook his head. "Ketch is there. He's—"

"Dude," Dead said, holding him still. "You just had a hole melted into your shoulder. Take a breath." He saw the ache in Sam's eyes. "She's fine," he assured quietly. "They're both safe. Let's just focus on getting you back to them."

With a soft nod, Sam let Dean guide him back to the Impala, leaning on his brother. Though Castiel healed his wounds, he still felt the effects of the blood loss. "Alright, Cas," Dean said as he paused beside the car, giving the angel a nod, "take him home. I'll see you both in about five hours."

"What?" Sam asked, wrinkling his brow. "No way."

"Sam-"

"Dean, I'm not leaving you. Neither is Cas. There could be more."

Sighing, Dean patted Sam's back, then grabbed hold of him as Sam swayed. "Jeez, man," he mumbled, "you're like a freaking bobble head."

After helping Sam into the car, Dean sat in the driver's seat, drawing in a deep breath as Castiel settled in the back. "Did she say why Ketch is there?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean saw the currents of tension running through him. "No."

Sam stared at the dashboard, his jaw tightening. "Try to make it four hours or less back."


	66. Chapter 66

Sam felt much better physically by the time they returned to the bunker, except for the pit in his stomach as soon as he saw Ketch standing next to Rachel in the maps room. He chose to focus on her, drinking in the sight of her as he approached. Shutting his eyes, he thoroughly accepted her aggressive hug, pressing a sigh and a deep kiss on her head. He pulled away and cupped her cheeks, examining her. "Are you alright?"

Rachel nodded. It wasn't a lie—she was much better than she had been before. The ache and the sickness was gone. Overall, though, she knew she was far from fine. And she knew once Sam learned of what was going on, he'd be far from fine too. "Are you?" she asked, tracing the dried blood on his face.

"I'm fine," he assured, capturing her mouth in his. He groaned, his relief palatable. Fingers sinking into her hair, he pulled her closer, not caring that he had a reluctant audience. If anything, knowing Ketch was watching was motivation to stake his claim even more.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, waving at them. "Break it up." He slunk into a chair with a sigh, craning his neck as Sam and Rachel parted.

"Glad you're not dead, Dean," Rachel smirked, seeing the way his eyes lit up with his amused smile. "Thanks for bringing him home."

"Believe me, if Sam told me one more time to go faster, he wouldn't have made it."

"Jealous," Rachel concluded, seeing Dean chuckle as she held onto Sam's arm.

"Hell yeah, I am. I want a welcome like that."

"Well, you're not getting it from her, 'cause she's all mine," Sam replied, his arm wrapping around her and drawing her to his side. "Where's—"

"Daddy!" Robbie screeched as he flapped in, rushing toward Sam, who drew him up into his arms with a big smile. "I was so scared."

"I know," Sam said, stroking his son's hair. He kissed the boy's head, exhaling deeply as the feeling of his son wrapped in his arms soothed him. "Me too."

Robbie pulled back. "You were?"

"Of course I was." Sam searched his son's eyes. "It's okay to be scared. Everyone is from time to time."

The idea that Sam had experienced the same fear he did seemed to make Robbie's tension melt away. He snuggled against Sam, who tightened his arms around him. The idea of fear triggered the memory of Rachel's initial reason why Ketch was at the bunker. She had been afraid. But of what, he didn't know. He glanced to Ketch, seeing Dean stand in his peripheral. "Want a beer?" Dean asked Sam, waiting.

"Sure," Sam replied, watching him leave for the kitchen.

"Where's Cas?" Rachel asked.

"Helping Bobby and Mom try to get home sooner than tomorrow," he said.

"Good."

"Where's Jack?"

Rachel swallowed. "Napping."

Sam's brow rose. "He's not a napper."

"He's fine. He, uh … I'll tell you later."

Reluctantly, Sam's focus shifted to Ketch, clinging a little tighter to Robbie. Despite the fact that he may have helped in some remote way, he couldn't curb his anger at the evident contact he had with Rachel. "Why are you here?" he asked, his tone more than chilled. Even Robbie stopped playing with Sam's shirt buttons, looking up at his father's eyes to see his anger.

Ketch smiled. "Because your fiancée called," he replied, glancing to Rachel. "I was merely trying to help, as she asked me to." He purposely drove the idea in, locking eyes with Sam.

Sam wasn't amused in the slightest. Still, he couldn't lash out at Ketch, not when it was Rachel who requested him. "Your services are no longer required."

"Sam," Rachel whispered, knowing she gained his attention despite his hard stare at Ketch, "I … I asked him to stay for dinner." She swallowed as Sam looked down at her with a wrinkled brow. "He … He did help."

"What could he have _possibly_ helped with?" Sam asked, not caring if his tone was hushed enough.

"I'll explain, but later," Rachel replied, nodding to Robbie discreetly. She watched Sam's jaw tick, seeing the anger swirling within.

"I don't want to be an imposition," Ketch said, seeing them both look at him.

"You're not," Rachel assured. Sam was baffled at her surprisingly gentle tone. It was out of left field. Rachel normally wanted to kill Ketch for breathing too heavily, let alone inviting him to stay for dinner out of what looked like gratitude rather than obligation.

Ketch gave her a slight nod, one that made Sam wild with anger, jealousy, and hatred. He set Robbie down carefully as Dean returned, handing his brother an opened bottle of beer. "Come on, Robbie," Rachel murmured as she took the boy's hand, swallowing back her worry over Sam's clear disdain. "Let's go get stuff to set the table."

Sam watched Rachel leave, bringing the bottle to his lips and drawing back a long swig. He lowered it, shifting his focus to Ketch. With Dean there, he wasn't sure if he wanted to start something. Things could escalate pretty quickly. So he opted to remain silent, attempting to pretend Ketch wasn't there, failing rapidly. After taking another pull of his beer, Sam sighed, setting it down next to Dean's. "I'm gonna go wash up," he murmured, giving Ketch a look before he slipped down the hall.

Ketch pursed his lips, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Quite a day," he said with a sigh.

Dean's brow arched as he looked over at him. He didn't know what to make of the situation, but he knew how Sam felt. It was more than obvious. "Look," he said, eyes narrowing, "no matter what went down here, tread lightly. Because even if you were granted sainthood by the pope, I don't need much incentive to put a clip in you. And Sam needs even less."

Ketch's brow arched. He smirked a little. "Care to even know what happened?"

The way Ketch gloated made Dean pissed. "I said, tread lightly," he warned.

Rachel re-entered the room with an armload of plates and another handful of silverware, Robbie followed her carrying a stack of napkins. "Need help?" Dean asked.

She shook her head. "I'm good." She glanced between Dean and Ketch. "Where's Sam?"

"Washing up."

"Oh." Rachel flicked her eyes to Ketch for a moment, quickly returning her focus back to the plates. She had offered him dinner to be polite. After keeping her safe for a large portion of the day, it only felt right. Still, she knew Sam would be pissed, and he definitely was. The way Ketch's eyes seemed to follow her was unsettling, their encounter in the kitchen, and later that afternoon in her room, making her on edge any time she was near him.

 _Rachel slowly sat up on her bed as Jack finished the last of his treatment. She drew in a deep breath, finally feeling like herself again. "Thanks, Jack," she murmured, sighing. "Look, about Robbie—"_

 _Jack shook his head, a sad look in his eyes. "I should never have left him, or you. It was wrong. Very wrong."_

 _She sighed. "Believe me," she said, "I get the feeling of not being in the fold. I haven't been on a hunt in like six months. I feel like I'm ready to climb the walls most days. But Castiel, Dean, and Sam value you and appreciate you as a member of Team Free Will. Trust me on that."_

 _With a nod, Jack smiled. "I do. Thank you."_

 _Ketch entered the room without a knock, catching the surprised faces of Rachel and Jack. He was carrying a bowl on a tray. "I fixed you a bit of soup," he said, clearing his throat. "Canned, I'm afraid, but it's some sort of nutrition at least."_

 _Rachel shivered as Ketch approached and rested the tray on her nightstand. "Jack," she said quietly, "can you go check on Robbie?"_

 _A beat later, the nephilim was gone. She took a shaky breath, hesitating to speak as Ketch began to leave. "Ketch," she said, seeing him pause and turn back to her. She slowly stood, smoothing out her shirt. "I … I want to apologize for … for how I've been."_

 _Ketch's brow arched. "Are you sure Jack healed you? You seem uncharacteristically amicable toward me."_

 _His poke at her attempt to be civil didn't help; it only made her clam up more, the awkwardness permeating through the room. "I called you," she continued, swallowing hard, "and you showed. I owe you for that alone." She met his eyes. "I appreciate all you've done. You should … You should stay for dinner."_

 _With a soft nod, Ketch smiled down at her. "I'm glad I was able to help, and I accept." He examined her for a few silent moments, stepping toward her. "I meant what I said earlier," he added quietly. "I'm concerned for you, as a friend."_

 _Rachel looked him over. "Why?"_

" _Your life, with Robbie in it, is far more complicated than anyone will ever experience." He took another step with a heavy sigh. "It's a burden I wouldn't wish on you."_

" _Robbie is my son," she said, her brow furrowing._

" _And he's a brilliant lad," Ketch agreed. "It doesn't make it any less dangerous."_

 _She could see the honesty in his eyes, choosing to focus on that rather than her desired defensive retort. "I know the road ahead will be hard, but I wouldn't change it for the world."_

 _Ketch nodded. "It's dedication like that which makes you an excellent hunter."_

 _Rachel shook her head. "You've never even seen me in the field."_

 _His confidence was tangible, his gaze penetrating. "I don't have to. I know something valuable when I see it."_

 _The tension between them nearly acted like a noose, closing around Rachel's throat. "What are you doing?" she asked, baffled by his behavior over the last several hours._

" _Trying to show you I'm not the bogeyman Sam has made me out to be."_

" _Our first meeting wasn't exactly rainbows and kittens."_

 _Nipping at his bottom lip, Ketch nodded. "I do regret that. I underestimated you, most certainly."_

" _Or overestimated yourself."_

 _Ketch smirked. "Ah, there she is. I was afraid Jack had replaced you with a drone." Rachel looked down, studying the concrete. "As I said before," he continued, "we all need to work together to ensure our safety with Michael's inevitable arrival."_

" _Sam and Dean will never willing work with you."_

" _I know. Which is why I'm imploring you to consider your own choice." He tilted his head a little as he studied her. "You're your own woman, Rachel," he reminded her softly as he moved in closer, seeing her look back up at him. "All these months spent in the shadows of the Winchester brothers has made you forget yourself. But you—you're a hunter." He saw her swallow hard, her nerves visible. "You're a woman who survived the job for ten years without formal training, without a steady partner." Ketch dared to take her hands, which stunned her. "You're more than Sam's accessory, Rachel. Don't lose sight of that." Lips parted, Rachel stood frozen, her heart ricocheting off her chest. Ketch's thumb slowly stroked over her knuckles. "I'd hate to see such an incredible woman fade into nothingness, because no one was there to remind her of herself," he murmured._

 _The shrill ring of her cell phone made Rachel jump, the sound slicing through the air unforgivingly. Ketch quickly released her hands, and Rachel cleared her throat as she turned her back to him, taking up her phone and answering it, entirely distracted. "Hello?"_

" _Baby girl," Sam breathed, shutting his eyes as Dean drove._

 _Rachel covered her mouth, tears forming instantly when she heard his voice. "Oh thank God," she whispered, shuddering. "Are you okay?"_

" _We're alright. We'll be home in a few hours," Sam assured. "Are you okay? Robbie?"_

" _We're good," she replied, sinking down onto the mattress. She looked up, seeing Ketch had left. She was unable to erase his foreign, unexpected touch from her hands. It clung to her tightly, just as her new realization did as she clutched the phone—Ketch was more than invested as a friend. He had to be. His gestures were far from platonic. Was that why he was so eager to help? The idea made her shiver, her stomach sinking, and she instantly regretting asking him to stay. Still, her guilt ate at her. Had she sent a mixed signal by calling him? Was this her fault? "We're fine."_

Rachel's palms grew clammy as she focused on the plates, setting each one out. Ketch's insistently weird behavior both put her on edge, and made her think. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Ketch was right about two things—she had lost sight of herself as a hunter, and there's nothing she wouldn't do to protect Robbie.


	67. Chapter 67

Sam's heavy gait caught Rachel's attention; she looked up and met his eyes, wanting nothing more in that moment than to seek comfort in him. Still, she knew it was best to wait until Ketch was gone. Otherwise, Sam would kill him on the spot. Sam's large hand rested over hers as she laid out the last setting. "Rest," he urged softly as he leaned in, nuzzling her cheek.

"I will later," she said with a soft sigh, drinking in his comfort and praying he didn't feel the tension that coursed through her veins.

"Sit," he insisted.

"I have to get the food."

"I'll get it."

"I can do it myself, Sam. I'm capable," she snapped as she backed away a bit. It was louder than she meant it to be, the stiffness she felt all day with Ketch and his truth manifesting itself into a frustrated, burning quip. Her lips parted, and she quickly moved away from the table, going into the kitchen. She needed to breathe, to relax. Still, it felt impossible with Sam and Ketch in the same room.

Sam's nostrils flared a little as he kept his focus on the archway for a long moment. All he wanted to do was help her. Why did she lash out? Something was off. Immediately, he looked to Ketch, finding him sitting at the table, not even paying attention. He shut his eyes, drawing in a cleansing breath. Though he loathed Ketch, he couldn't accuse him without reason while his son watched intently. He had to be better for him.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and sat, busying himself with getting Robbie situated as Rachel came back in with a tray of veggie casserole. It was petty and childish, but Sam was pissed when he realized he had to share a dish with Ketch that he so strongly associated with his relationship with Rachel. _Breathe. It's a casserole._

"Smells good," Dean sighed appreciatively, barely waiting for Rachel to sit as he scooped himself out a heaping serving. "Thanks, Rach."

"Yes," Ketch said, giving her a nod, "thank you."

Though he loved his son, Sam wanted to move him from between himself and Rachel just so he could visibly stake his claim on her, every territorial instinct he had flaring as he looked Ketch over. He felt nearly feral, like a snarling lion protecting his mate and his cub from a slimy poacher ready to strike. He took up his beer, taking a long drink as Rachel filled Robbie's plate, waving her hand over it to cool it off for the child. Glancing to Rachel, he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "I didn't mean to make you feel incapable," he said, watching her hesitate for a brief moment, then resume cooling the food. "I'm sorry if I did."

Rachel shook her head. She knew he hadn't. "I know you didn't," she replied in kind, afraid to meet his eyes while Ketch sat across from them. "I'm sorry I snapped."

"Let me help you," he urged. "Tell me what's going on."

Rachel laid her hand on Robbie's shoulder as the boy was about to speak. "Not now," she directed at both of them. "Later."

Closing his eyes for a hard blink, Sam sniffed and returned his focus to the food in front of him. Being suspended in wait was killing him; he wanted nothing more than to know every single detail of what burdened Rachel so much.

"Delicious," Ketch said to Rachel as Sam scooped out some dinner for Rachel.

"Thanks," Rachel replied to both, carefully eating as Sam served himself last.

The four adults sat and ate quietly for a few moments, until Robbie's eyes lit up. "Guess what, Uncle Dean?" he asked, a few bits of vegetables falling out of his mouth onto his plate.

"Chew, then talk," Sam instructed.

Robbie chomped on his remaining bite vigorously, swallowing. "Guess what?" he asked again.

"What's up, little man?" Dean asked, taking another helping of food.

"I can shoot fireballs!"

Dean stopped, looking between Rachel and Sam with an arched brow. He grinned. "That's awesome," he chuckled.

Robbie jumped to his feet. "Wanna see?"

"At-at," Rachel chided. "Sit. Finish."

"Yes, ma'am," Robbie sighed as he sat back down and resumed eating.

Jack flashed in, smiling at everyone. "Sorry I'm late," he said with a sigh. "I was pretty tired after healing Rachel of—"

"You should eat," Rachel interrupted, forcing a smile as Jack looked down at her. She laughed, the awkwardness not missed by anyone, especially Sam. Looking down, she resumed eating, feeling Sam's eyes boring into her.

"It smells great," Jack said, sitting between Dean and Ketch after scooping himself some dinner. The adjustment made Ketch need to scoot closer to Rachel, which drove Sam insane.

Rachel caught Sam's questioning look, mouthing "later" to him over Robbie's head. Sam resumed eating, stabbing a carrot harder than necessary.

"So," Ketch said, "I trust you boys eliminated the threat in Iowa?"

Dean and Sam hesitated. "Yeah," Dean said, shrugging. "A milk run."

Rachel knew it was bull, but she kept quiet.

"Excellent," Ketch replied. He paused as he ate for a moment. "And you saw the future, yes?" he asked Robbie.

The boy shrugged. "I guess."

Ketch examined him. "Tell me, did it hurt?" Robbie shook his head. "Fascinating."

Sam straightened. "He doesn't need to think about it again," he warned Ketch, narrowing his eyes.

"Of course," Ketch said apologetically. "We wouldn't want him to rehash it all."

Robbie shoveled his food into his mouth, grinning when he cleaned his plate. He saw Dean relaxed with his beer. "Can I show Uncle Dean now?" he asked, tugging on Rachel's drapey blue shirt.

"If it's alright with him," she replied, looking to Dean.

"Hell yeah!" Dean grinned, standing. "Come on, buddy. I'll take you down to the range. Let's see what you've got."

Jack finished his last bite quickly. "I'd better go with them," he said with a laugh. "Probably will need to fix a few things."

Rachel watched the three disappear, the pit growing in her stomach as she realized she was now alone with Sam and Ketch. "All done?" she asked, forcing a smile and snagging the dirty dishes into a pile.

Sam stood, helping her gather the remainder she couldn't carry, ignoring Ketch as he followed her into the kitchen. As she dumped the dishes in the sink, he added his, his hands quickly finding her shoulders. Her whimpered moan as he kneaded her muscles shot straight down south, unable to help his stir against his jeans. "That feels good," she managed as he expertly dug his fingers against her knots.

"I can make it feel even better," he whispered into her ear, giving the outer edge a lick, more than satisfied by her shiver in response.

"Sam," she murmured, trying to slide away from him as her cheeks heated. Still, he kept her in place, continuing his ministrations.

"Uh-uh, little girl," he said, nipping at the side of her neck, soothing it with his tongue.

"Dishes," she shuddered, her eyes rolling shut.

"Leave them."

"Sam …" She swallowed back a soft moan. "We can't."

Her heart raced as Sam dragged his fingers down her back, latching onto her waist as he pressed against her from behind. She heard him groan, though it seemed like he tried not to. "Fucking yoga pants," he growled into her ear, pressing himself against her backside. The material didn't leave much between what he was after and his hardening member. Her small gasp only made it worse. "You know what these do to me."

"Later," she promised, turning in his embrace. She saw how his eyes had darkened, his hands still clinging to her.

"Now," he smirked, flush against her as he pinned her against the counter. Stealing a kiss, he let a satisfied hum resonate in his throat. "Goddamn," he murmured against her mouth, trying to draw her even closer. With a shake of her head, she gently pushed him back. "I can help," he offered, a glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, doubtful in your current mental state."

"Trust me, baby girl," he purred, tracing across her jaw, "I can help you with quite a few things."

"Later," she repeated with a laugh, though she tried to calm her fevered pulse. "Go relax. I've got this. I'll bring out the pie and cake in a minute."

Reality flooded back through Sam, realizing Ketch was still there. With a parting kiss, he gave her a little nod, turning back to the archway. His number one motivation was kicking Ketch out of the bunker before Rachel came back into the maps room.

With long strides, Sam reentered the maps room, Ketch meeting his eyes. He paused, his jaw ticking. "I think it's best you leave now," he said with a cool gaze, hating how comfortable Ketch seemed.

Ketch smirked, standing up. "Not feeling as hospitable as your fiancée?"

Sam's pulse shot up, catching the insinuation. "There's no reason for you to stay," he replied.

"I told Rachel you'd be less than keen on creating an alliance," Ketch continued. "She, on the other hand, is wiser than you."

Sam took a step closer to him. "You're insane if you think I'll let you anywhere near Rachel or our son."

"You keep forgetting one, important part of it all," Ketch said, unfazed by Sam's threat as he bridged the gap. "Rachel was the one who called _me._ She clearly considered me an asset in your repeated absence. And she certainly made sure I knew how … grateful … she was."

With an angry sniff and nod, Sam gripped Ketch's shirt, holding the man firmly in place. "I said, leave."

"I haven't had dessert yet," Ketch smirked knowingly. "I hear it's awfully good."

Enraged, Sam slammed him up against the panel behind him. "If you don't leave in the next two seconds, I'll make sure you leave in a body bag."

Ketch gave him a look. "You're a fool if you think she's satisfied playing House while you take her life away from her."

"Don't you dare pretend to know what's best for her," Sam growled, fuming.

"And do you?" Ketch countered, calm despite being under Sam's firm grip. "Because I think if you did, you would've let her go in New York like I recommended."

"Leave now, or I swear to God, I will beat your face in."

"At least I've been able to recognize her discontentment."

Sam scoffed. "You don't know shit about her."

"I know more than you think. A smart woman is an attractive one, and Rachel is quite intelligent."

Sam's grip tightened, shoving him closer to the panel. "Don't you dare talk about her, you dick."

Ketch's small smiled insinuated far too much. "I was the one to remind her today of her power. Tell me, when was the last time you were able to make her feel like more than just a bed warmer? Or have you ever?"

Rachel came into the room, gasping when she saw Sam lay two clean strikes across Ketch's jaw with his balled up fist. She hurriedly set the food she was holding down, rushing and grabbing Sam's arm as he readied it for a third. "Stop it!" she shouted, feeling how his tensed muscles shook under her. Sam panted, still clinging tightly to Ketch's collar as he slowly lowered his arm Rachel held. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, keeping hold of him as Sam thrust Ketch away from himself.

"Want to tell her, Sam?" Ketch asked, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Tell me what?" Rachel asked, looking at Sam, still bracing him as he shifted slightly in front of her.

Sam spit on the ground. "Fuck you," he sneered to Ketch. "Get the hell out of my house."

Dean came back in, a fresh beer in hand. "I smell pie," he said with a big smile. It quickly faded as he saw the stand off. "What the hell's going on?" he growled, staring down Ketch as he set his beer down on the maps table.

Robbie flashed into the room with a giggle, ready to run off. "Catch me, Uncle Dean!" he laughed. Dean intercepted him, taking him into his arms and holding him to his chest protectively. Feeling his tension, Robbie's mood shifted, and he looked in fear over at Sam and Ketch.

"Tell her, Sam," Ketch goaded. "Tell Rachel all about how you'll never be able to give her back the life she once had. Tell her how the rest of her days will be spent rotting away in an underground concrete prison because you failed to use protection. Tell her how little you actually think of her, and how you'd rather sacrifice her freedom for your own selfish comforts."

Rachel took Sam's arm as he moved to strike, her grip not nearly enough to normally stop him. But he paused under her touch, not wanting to hurt her. Inside, he was more than fired up, one tiny spark away from exploding.

"Rachel," Dean ordered gruffly, though she knew his anger wasn't directed at her. "Come here." He wanted to separate her from Sam to keep her safe, recognizing the frayed thread his brother was hanging by. It had been a long time since he had seen Sam in the current state he was in, and it wasn't something he wanted Rachel or Robbie anywhere near.

Rachel hesitantly let Sam go and went to Dean's side. Dean handed her Robbie, who clung to his mother as Dean shoved them both behind his back, shielding them with a narrowed look at Ketch."Yes, hide her, boys," Ketch continued as he watched. "Don't want her to remember the powerful hunter she once was, do we? It's nicer to keep her here for pie and sex."

Rachel watched, jaw dropped, as Sam lost it, his growl feral as he leaped at Ketch. His fist knocked into Ketch's jaw, his adrenaline coursing through his veins at light speed. Ketch shoved Sam off of himself, blocking his second swing and landing one of his own. With a chilled laugh as swiped a bit of blood from his mouth with his thumb, Sam struck back, sinking two more blows into Ketch, kicking him to the ground. "Get out of my house!" he shouted, picking him up and throwing him against the wall.

"Mommy?" Robbie asked, his voice shaky.

"Shh, baby. It's okay," Rachel urged, horrified and pained as she watched Sam's rage. She tried to block Robbie's view as the two kept swinging, Sam landing more hits than he took, though the ones he failed to block were hard. Trembling, she tightened her arms around her son. She had caused this. This was her fault. If she hadn't called Ketch, none of this would've happened. "Sam, stop!" she begged, feeling her eyes well with tears. Despite Dean's direction, she moved a few steps toward Sam, only to be snatched back by Dean.

"Stay back," he ordered as he guided her back toward the far corner. Rachel's eyes rounded as he rushed toward the scene. She forced Robbie's head into her shoulder, trying to shield the child as she watched in horror, hearing him sniffle.

Dean came between his brother and Ketch, shaking him loose and holding Sam back from adding to Ketch's bloodied mouth and nose. "Enough!" he shouted at Sam, seeming to calm him only a minor bit. "Listen, dickweed," Dean warned Ketch, "if you don't get out of here in the next ten seconds, I _will_ let him go."

Ketch straightened as he thumbed some blood from his mouth, looking at Rachel, who kept Robbie from looking. "When you've decided you've had enough of being his bed accessory, you know how to find me." He headed toward the staircase, giving her a knowing look.

Sam lunged against Dean, making him work hard to keep him back. "Don't talk to her, you son of a bitch!"

Ketch paused with a small smile, flicking his eyes over Rachel before looking back at Sam. "Oh, Sam—I've done more than that today."

Rachel screamed in surprise and jumped back as Sam pushed Dean aside and shoved the maps table to get to Ketch, tackling him to the ground as the surrounding chairs crashed down with loud bangs. Robbie began to sob into Rachel, shaking as he held her.

Sam snatched Ketch's throat, squeezing it. "So help me," he warned in a gritty tone, applying more pressure, "you're a dead man."

With suddenness, he was ripped off of Ketch by Jack, who bound him with his power. "Jack," Sam growled as he was bound in place, "let me go! _Now!_ "

"No," Jack replied firmly. He turned his eyes to Ketch. "He helped her today, Sam."

"I don't give a shit!" Sam snapped, fighting ruthlessly against Jack's power. "He's a dead man!"

"Enough!" Jack shouted at him, momentarily stilling him. "You may not like him, but he helped Rachel with Lucifer. And your son needs to see the good in you."

Sam looked to Rachel, pained as she ducked her eyes. What she kept from him involved Lucifer. It was even more serious than he thought. He shifted his focus back to Ketch, who brushed himself off.

"You need to get the hell out, _now_ ," Dean warned Ketch, his stare hard and cold.

With a nod to Rachel, Ketch climbed the stairs and left, the echo of the bunker door slamming shut filling the room. In the silence that followed, Robbie's sobs became audible to everyone. "Shh," Rachel whispered, tears filling her eyes as stroked him while carrying him.

Jack let Sam go, and Sam immediately focused on Rachel and Robbie. He approached, but she shook her head, halting him. "Cool off," she said, a stiffness tainting her tone. He watched as she turned and left, cradling Robbie against her and disappearing down the hall.

Sam's pulse wouldn't slow, far too riled up to think straight. He bent down and picked up the chair near his foot, setting it back into place roughly. "We gonna talk about this?" Dean asked, coming to stand in front of Sam.

"Jack seems to have an opinion on it," Sam replied stiffly, looking toward Jack. "Right, Jack?"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted with a narrowed look, "Jack was doing what was right."

Sam scoffed, shaking his head as he laughed under his breath. "Right. So," he said, eyeing Castiel, his tone darkening, "I guess Ketch—a slimy, murdering bastard—doesn't deserve his face beaten in for going near my future wife, or our son."

"Rachel called him," Jack said, holding firm as Sam flicked his gaze to him.

Sam stepped forward. "Fucking _Lucifer_ is in her head, Jack," he said. "So how did you know she was even thinking straight?"

"She did it without me knowing."

"Alright," Dean interrupted, halting Sam as he readied to speak. "Look," he said to his brother, "you need to calm down, so you can go talk to Rach. Ketch is a parasite, but it's done, Sammy. He's gone. It's over."

Gritting his teeth together, Sam shoved away from the maps table, stalking toward the hall and disappearing. "Jack," Dean said when he left, turning to the nephilim, "you call us next time, you hear?

"She said not to," Jack argued.

"You _call_ ," Dean repeated. "No matter who tells you not to. Got it?"

Jack nodded, watching as Dean picked up the last chair and set it into place.

"How bad is it?" Castiel asked Jack quietly.

"Pretty bad," he replied, catching Dean's worried look.

"How bad is pretty bad?" Dean asked.

"It took me almost an hour to remove the damage from the second round. Robbie was able to disconnect it briefly, though."

"Wait, Robbie got involved?" Dean asked, taking a step toward Jack, who suddenly looked more than guilty. Dean didn't miss it. "Jack, why did a little boy get anywhere near Lucifer?"

Jack swallowed, looking between him and Castiel. "I …" He hung his head. "I wasn't here when it happened."

"I'm sorry," Dean said with a scoff, shaking his head, "did you say you _weren't here_?"

"Jack," Castiel said, worried, "why weren't you here?"

Jack shut his eyes, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. "Because I was visiting Maggie."

Dean swiped at his face, his pulse rising. He stopped himself just before he could snap, instead turning to Castiel. "You handle this," he decided, grit in his tone. "Because if I handle it, it's gonna get really ugly." Swiping up his beer, Dean stormed off toward his room, leaving Castiel and Jack alone.

"I messed up," Jack said, looking at Castiel with evident guilt. "It won't happen again."

Castiel eyed Jack, silent for a long moment. "You're right. It won't."


	68. Chapter 68

**_S13 E23 "Let The Good Times Roll" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

Sam drew in a deep breath before he knocked on the bedroom door, opening it a beat later. Rachel was seated on their bed, Robbie in her arms as he sniffled a little. The boy's head popped up when Sam walked in, his eyes rounding as he looked at Sam. In that moment, Sam couldn't have possibly felt any worse. Not only did Ketch go near the two people he adored, but now his son was afraid of him.

"Robbie," Sam began, sighing as he sat across from them on the foot of the bed, "what happened in there … I didn't mean to scare you." He watched as Robbie ducked his eyes down to Rachel's hand, finding sudden interest in it. "I was scared," Sam admitted, seeing Robbie pause. "And I did something that made someone else get hurt. But it's not okay."

Robbie looked up at Sam. "I hurt Mommy by accident," he admitted, sniffing. "I got scared and then she got hurt."

Sam nodded. "It's okay."

"Why did you get scared of the weird man?"

"Because I wasn't here to help you or Mommy."

"He helped."

"It's … It's a bit more complicated. But I was still wrong to make you afraid. And I'm sorry."

Robbie parted from Rachel, crossing the distance on the mattress to Sam, who scooped him into his arms. Sam kissed his head, shutting his eyes as he clutched his son tightly to his chest. "I love you," he whispered to Robbie.

"Love you," Robbie murmured back against his chest.

Sam looked up from Robbie's dark hair, seeing Rachel watching. She was more than obviously pained, scared, and tense. There was so much he wanted to say, but he remained silent, first soothing his son before he'd try to soothe Rachel.

"Daddy?" Robbie asked; Sam pulled away a little to look into his eyes. "Uncle Dean said we could have a sleepover."

Sam's brow rose. "When did he say that?"

"When I was shooting fireballs."

Sam nodded. "Let's go ask him, okay?"

"Give me a kiss first," Rachel murmured. Robbie nearly lept from Sam's arms to hers, snuggling against her. "Love you, baby," she murmured.

"Love you, mama," Robbie replied, giving her a sweet peck on her lips.

Sam stood, glancing down to Rachel as he picked up Robbie. She was focused on playing with the blankets. "I'll be back," he assured, waiting for a response. She didn't give one, which only made him that much more unsettled.

Carrying Robbie, Sam went to Dean's room, giving a light knock. Dean opened it; a smile broke out on his face at the sight of Robbie. "You still wanna hang, little man?"

"Yeah!" Robbie replied, stretching toward Dean, who took him from Sam.

"Good, because I've got The Three Stooges ready." He saw Sam's brow arch. "It's a classic, Sammy," Dean assured.

"Yeah, Daddy," Robbie chirped in. "It's a classic!"

Sam laughed, shaking his head as he saw Robbie and Dean give each other a fist bump. "Have fun," he said, feeling slightly better as he saw the happy, relaxed look on Robbie's face.

"Goodnight, Daddy!"

"'Night, buddy." Sam kissed the boy's forehead, then left. His pulse raced as he made his way back to his room, pausing outside of the door. He was thankful Dean pre-arranged for Robbie to be with him—there was a lot he and Rachel needed to talk about before, and even more so now.

With a deep breath, Sam opened the door, seeing Rachel exactly where he left her. Quietly, he closed the door behind himself, lingering by it for a moment. He made his way over to the left side of the bed, where Rachel sat with her legs folded under herself. "Talk to me," he urged as he sat directly next to her.

At first, when Rachel initially came into the room with Robbie, she thought she might lash out at Sam whenever he finally showed. But the longer she sat, the more she realized how pointless it would be. Sam would never stop protecting her or Robbie, even if it turned him into a wild maniac. His love was that fierce, that strong. Though Ketch might not have deserved all of what Sam did, he definitely wasn't innocent. "Lucifer gave me a choice," she finally said, her breath shaky as she stared at the blanket. "Either let him possess my vessel and take the boys, or mental torture."

Sam's blood ran cold at the thought, knowing how terrible first hand it was to have Lucifer in your mind. "I'll see if Cas can put up some kind of—"

"It won't work," Rachel sighed. She met Sam's eyes. "You know that."

The idea of what she would undergo made him sick. "I need to try," he argued, wetting his throat. "I can't … I can't let him …"

"Sammy," she interrupted, taking his hands, "you can't stop it."

"It will _kill_ you, Rachel!" Sam's hand tightened around hers.

Rachel nodded. "Maybe."

He scoffed. "What, you're …" He shook his head. "No. There's no way I'll let you go insane by Lucifer and do _nothing_!"

"It's better than the boys being given to him!"

Letting go of her, Sam swiped a hand over his face, trembling. "No." He gently cupped her cheek. "No," he repeated, laying his thumb over her mouth before she could speak. "I'll find a way. I swear to you, I will." He stroked her, searching her eyes. "There's more, though. Otherwise, Dickwad wouldn't have taunted me." She felt him tense. "So, what happened?"

Rachel swallowed, leaning into his touch. "He … He was just being a presumptuous ass."

"He's always a presumptuous ass," Sam argued, lowering his hand. It balled into a fist, his molars clamping together as he tried to control his sudden rush of anger at Ketch. "So let's focus on the part where he claims you confided in him."

"I didn't," Rachel snapped.

"I know you didn't," Sam assured, his voice softening, "but him? He seems to think he knows a lot about you."

"Yeah, well he doesn't know shit."

"Why did you call him?"

"I was scared. Lucifer is in my head, Sam. I was worried I might do something."

"Then call _me._ " Sam took her hands. "Call _me._ "

"You needed to focus on the demons."

"Nothing is more important than you and Robbie."

"Those demons _had_ to be." Her eyes narrowed. "Our son would've been haunted by them if you didn't do something."

"And now you're haunted by Lucifer," Sam said, shutting his eyes with a sharp exhale. "That son of a bitch is right. I've done nothing but screw up your life."

"Sam, stop," Rachel ordered. "You know that's not true."

"When was the last time you felt normal?" Sam challenged. "Before you met me, right?" She hesitated, and he shook his head. "You can't tell me this isn't my fault."

"You're forgetting that _I_ chose this," she countered. "I chose you, this bunker, this life. All of it."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, terrified of the possibilities with his next question. "What else?" he chose to ask, watching her for a reaction.

He saw the flicker of tension in her eyes. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

"It's not—"

"Sweetheart," Sam urged, silencing her. "Please."

Rachel sighed, running her fingers over his tanned forearms as he rubbed her thighs. "Ketch was trying to convince me he was a 'friend.' That he was a good ally to have for when Michael arrives." Sam grumbled, his hands stopping. "He might be right, though," she added, quickly gaining his attention. "It's Michael, the most powerful archangel. We might need him."

"No way," Sam objected with a scoff. "There's no way in hell he's going near you or Robbie. I don't give a shit if he helped." He held up his hand as she went to speak. "Rachel, that man …" He paused and bit back his anger, trying to lower his voice. "That man is obsessed with you. I can see it. And you think I want you near an obsessive psychopath?"

Rachel hesitated, remembering Ketch's boldness as he stroked her cheek. "He's not obsessed."

"Fine. Then what did he talk about with you, other than me or my brother? About himself, right? How he knew what was better for you?" Her silence confirmed his fear. "And why do you think he's concerned? For you? No. It's because he wants to get in your pants."

Rachel scoffed. "Please."

"Are you seriously saying you don't see that?"

"He may be forward, but it didn't mean anything. It wasn't … It wasn't like that."

Immediately, his entire body was on fire, his grip around her thigh tight. " _What_ wasn't? _What_ didn't mean anything?'" He swallowed, heart racing. "Did he touch you?" Sam asked, his eyes pure steel, his voice cold as ice.

"No," Rachel replied softly.

Sam let her go and pushed to his feet, pacing. He wanted to believe her, but he didn't. "I swear to God, Rachel, if he touched you, I'll fucking chop him into pieces."

"He didn't," Rachel insisted, standing and taking his hands. "Sam, breathe. He didn't." She watched as his entire body changed with his tension. "Not like that."

"Then like what?!"

"I passed out a couple times, so … he must've carried me."

"That filthy mother fucker!"

"Sam," she interrupted with a near shout, stopping him. "Yes, he must've carried me. But _that's it."_

"That you know of," Sam shot back.

"Let it go," Rachel urged.

"No way in hell," he growled.

"We don't know—"

"You're right. We don't. Which is _exactly_ why I'm going to kill him. Because if I even have to _think_ he might have touched you, he deserves to die."

Rachel forced Sam to be still, holding at his upper arms. "Sammy," she said, seeing the hatred in his eyes, feeling the currents of tension flowing through him. "Please. Stop. Just …" She shut her eyes, still clinging to him. "He's gone. It's done." Sam shut his eyes, his jaw ticking. "It's done," she whispered, pressing herself against his chest.

Immediately, Sam drew her into his arms, encircling her tightly as he inhaled deeply. He wanted to keep the flow of rage open, but Rachel was right. Ketch was gone, and he was there. Sam dug his fingers into Rachel's hair with one hair, exhaling with a small sigh as he felt the strands. As he stared at the wall above her head, he immediately saw the young girl in the barn, blood spurting from her slender throat as the demons slit it. He heard the frantic scream of the teenage boy, watching the blood splatter as his neck was sliced. They were so young, innocent. Their lives had ended because he chose Robbie over them. Sam's hold tightened; he drew Rachel fiercely to himself, hating the reality of their lives, loathing the way Lucifer could hurt her, enraged that more people would likely die.

"You never told me what happened out there," Rachel said against his chest, recognizing his silent fight.

"It was a milk run," Sam said flatly, the images still vivid in his mind's eye.

"Bullshit." Rachel pulled back, breaking Sam's trance as she searched his eyes. "Tell me."

"No," he replied with a dark firmness that surprised her.

"Sam—"

"No," he repeated. "No matter how much you ask, I won't." He swallowed hard. "I can't. Not because I don't love you enough, but because I love you far too much." He ran his knuckles over her cheek. "There are some things in this life that shouldn't be shared, because it's not a burden I want you to carry. And this is one of them."

Rachel's brows furrowed as she studied Sam, holding back her angry response. Despite her fierce desire to ease his mind, she knew he wouldn't be moved. "Okay," she whispered with a tiny nod. "If you do, though—"

Sam's index finger rested on her mouth, silencing her. "If I do, you'd be the first person I'd come to," he assured.

Rachel drew Sam's finger into her mouth, her lips wrapping around it teasingly as she kept eye contact with him. A hum resonated deep in his throat as she withdrew with a little smirk. Not giving her a chance to be free, Sam sunk his right hand deep into her hair, his left tipping her chin up as he leaned in to kiss her. His lips trapped hers, a groan rumbling in his chest as he methodically tasted her. His desire was feverish, but he resisted his urge to rush, wanting to savor the moment he had.

Sam's mouth moved slowly from hers, winding on a lazy trail across her cheek, over her jaw, and at the tender spot she had right under her ear. Her little whimpers were like fuel to the fire, her appreciative responses the perfect reward that kept him more than motivated. His fist tightened in her hair, and he tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck. He didn't wait—his mouth latched on to her, suckling it with gentle pressure until he knew it would leave a small mark. "Mine," he murmured against her as he let go, soothing the area with his tongue. Despite her assurances, he couldn't help but want to mark his territory. She was his—no one else's. He drew her down onto the bed with himself, relishing the way she felt in his arms as he caressed her, showering her with kisses. "All mine."

* * *

Two Weeks Later

Finding places for the refugees to live and to work was nothing short of a challenge. There was more than a ton of paperwork involved for twenty-five or more new people being introduced into the world as adults. Setting up identities kept Sam pretty busy. It was tedious, but worth it. After all, he had promised his mother he would take care of them.

Robbie's knowledge of his powers kept growing with every passing second, Jack needing to repair much of the bunker to fix what the boy's colossal strength damaged. Jack had been witness to Sam's hushed arguments with the boy, hearing his attempts at helping Robbie to fit in. Still, Robbie's resistance and anger flared, his desire to be a valued team member in the impending fight against Michael more than evident. Sam wasn't having it, though, which only made for massive amounts of tension in the small family unit.

Yet, there were some positives that happened between his brawl with Ketch and this very moment-one of them being Lucifer's disappearance from Rachel's head. Sam was more than relieved when she dared to tell him Lucifer hadn't said a word for a string of days. It felt odd, but he was focused on the part where she was free of the burden rather than the reason why.

Despite the good that had come his way, as Sam watched the lights flicker around him in the convenience store they had chased Jack to, his question to Dean regarding eradicating the evil in the world felt beyond distant. In fact, it felt stupid, nearly childish. How could he ever think evil would roll over and surrender? Why, because he had a family of his own, somehow the world would be okay? It was far from okay, and the impending threat that shook the ground and walls around him proved it. And he would only grow to fear more when the source was revealed.

"You need to go," Dean ordered the store worker, Nate. "Now."

As Nate bolted from the store, a loud, piercing noise accompanied the shaking. Sam, Dean and Castiel covered their ears, cowering against it.

Looking up, the three's expressions shifted in shock as they saw Michael smiling down at them. "Run!" Dean shouted, shoving Castiel out of the door as he and Sam followed.

An explosion blew Sam and Castiel into the side of the Impala as Dean raced ahead, able to make it to the trunk. Sam and Castiel sheltered themselves from the raining glass, looking up through the smoke and dust to see Michael smugly looking back. "It's not possible," Castiel murmured, brow wrinkled.

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, tell him that."

Slowly, Sam and Castiel stood, eyeing Michael as Dean sifted through the trunk for a weapon.

Michael grinned. "Hey, fellas. Miss me?"

Castiel snarled, lunging toward Michael, but Sam held him back. "No, no, no, Cas. Don't!"

"No, Cas," Michael replied with a smirk. "Do. Please." He eyed Sam. "Interesting," he said after a long pause. Sam clenched his jaw, knowing Michael had accessed his thoughts on Rachel and Robbie. "Actually, I'd rather hear more about your boy and his mother." Michael took a step closer. "He's all over angel radio. Resonating like crazy. Sounds like he's a real special kid."

It was Castiel's turn to hold Sam back. "Don't," Castiel murmured.

Before Sam could object, Dean found a rag, stuffed it into the top of the urn, and lit it on fire. He threw it at Michael's feet, surrounding him with holy fire. "Run!" Dean ordered. "Go, go, go, go!" The three climbed into the Impala and peeled off, leaving Michael to watch with a narrowed gaze.

Sam clenched his jaw as he sat in the car, tears filling his eyes as he thought of Rachel and Robbie. "With him here ..." he said, his voice trailing off.

"Look, nothing's happening to Jack, or to Robbie," Dean said, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

"How did he get here?" Castiel asked with a growl.

"I don't know," Dean growled back. "But we're gonna handle him."

Sam wasn't so sure. The bunker felt a million miles away, the two people he loved there without a clue as to what was now so close. His hand balled into a fist on his lap. "We need to find Jack," he said, his heart aching.

"He's probably back at the bunker," Dean replied.

"Hopefully."

"Where else would he go?"

* * *

Hearing a fluttering of wings, Jack paused on the dirt path he had teleported to, barely able to focus through his distress. His eyes widened when he saw Lucifer standing across from him. "Hi, son," Lucifer said with a smile.

Jack's brow furrowed. "Is this ... Are you real?"

Lucifer held his arms out, gesturing to himself. "Always."

"Sam said you're dead. He said Michael killed you."

Lucifer stuck his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I don't like to speak ill of people, but Sam is a big fat liar and he's a bad person and ... like, freakishly tall, so …"

"I-I don't understand."

With a sigh, Lucifer continued. "No, Michael didn't ... Sam was the one who left me behind.

Jack's face changed. "What?"

"Yep." Lucifer took a step closer to Jack. "I mean, I think he thought I'd be trapped over there in 'Giant Litter Box World' forever, 'cause that worked so well the first time." He paused. "I don't blame him, though, okay? I mean ... for everything that I've done to him, I think, uh, I had it coming, you know?"

"You tormented Rachel," Jack growled.

Lucifer lifted his finger. "Ah, see … Rachel wasn't exactly cooperative. I was desperate to see my boy again, but she wouldn't let me. Like, I kept her from being six feet under, man. I mean, Sam abandons me after I bring him back, his bride to be blocks me from you … So yeah, I kinda got ticked at the Brady Bunch. But you know what? I'm moving on."

"But if the rift is closed, then how are you here?

"Oh, no. Not 'how.' 'Why.' I'm here for you, Jack. Because, you know, even though the Three Amigos - Sam, Dean, and the other one - won't admit it, you need me. You do, 'cause we're blood. And we're not human, no matter how much we pretend to be. See, humans are...limited and fragile. And I'll admit, they bring out the worst in me, I gotta say. It seems like, you know, no matter how much you try to do right around them, something always goes wrong. Follow?"

"I ... I know," Jack hesitantly replied.

"Right? And that's not their fault, or ours. It's just, us and humans, we're like oil and water. You know, sardines and strawberries. It's just a bad combination. I mean, how long do you think Robbie's gonna last? They're trying to make him human as much as they can, but it isn't working out so well, is it? Kid's a freak, like us."

"They … They want him to be normal."

Lucifer sighed. "Yeah, But Jack … _none_ of us are 'normal.' I mean, I'm me, you're part me, and he's part my other kid. We're not meant to live this limited life. It only makes us liable for when things go wrong."

Jack thought it over for a moment. "What do we do?"

Lucifer pointed at him. "Leave. All three of us. I'd be doing Robbie a favor. Think about all the hurt you've experienced trying to fit in. Wouldn't you want to spare him that?" He looked toward the sky. "I mean...there's a whole universe out there, buddy. Planets. Stars. Galaxies. Why should we stay here on Earth when we can go anywhere else? Heck, everywhere else."

Jack smiled. "Like, um, like Star Wars?"

"Exactly like Star Wars," Lucifer replied excitedly. "You want a lightsaber? I can make you a lightsaber. Heck, I can make you a Wookiee. And can you see the kid as a little Ewok? Adorbs."

"But ... no," Jack said, his expression changing as he thought. "Sam, Dean, and Castiel, they'll miss me. Sam and Rachel will be devastated."

Lucifer rested his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Yes, they will. They will. It'll be hard. But you have to live your life for you. Right? This is our second chance, kiddo. This is our opportunity to escape our past and our sins and start over. And, this is our chance to give Robbie the freedom he deserves. A life without hurt like we've had. See, Sam and Rachel can never be the best for him, because he's _not human._ Don't you want the best for him?"

Jack swallowed. "I do. He's a good kid."

"I know you do," Lucifer smiled. "You care about him. That's why I want to help him. Give him what we never had-freedom."

"He ..." Jack paused, thinking about Robbie's endless struggle to be himself within the confines of the bunker. "He deserves it."

Lucifer's grin widened. "What do you say? Father, son, kinda grandson. You up for an adventure, buddy?"

Jack smiled. "I ... I'd like that. But there's something you need to do first."

* * *

Rachel watched as Mary paced the bunker. They were each anxious for an update from the brothers after Jack's sudden disappearance and his apparent rage at the store worker, Nate. She sat, keeping hold of Robbie, who squirmed impatiently in her arms. "Mommy," he sighed, "I wanna go to the range!"

"Not right now," Rachel replied, focusing on the wall in front of her. "I need you to stay with me."

"Whhhhyyyy?" Robbie groaned.

"Because."

"Because why?"

Rachel shut her eyes. "Robbie, I need you to be patient, okay?"

"When's Daddy coming back?"

"Enough," Rachel hissed.

"No fair!"

"Robert Jonathan," Rachel whispered, looking down at him. Her nerves were more than frayed, eagerly anticipating Sam's arrival, "enough. You need to listen to me, or it'll be a timeout."

Grumbling, Robbie tugged at the hem of his shirt as Bobby cane into the library. "Talked to the other refugees," he said, looking between Mary and Rachel. "No one's got any idea who'd wanna hurt Maggie."

"Maybe it wasn't one of them," Mary suggested. "Maybe ... there are monsters in this world that aren't monsters."

The three adults looked to each other, heaviness in their hearts as they pondered what happened to Maggie. Despite Robbie's resistance, Rachel held him closer, her heart breaking over the idea of finding her son in that state. She couldn't imagine it. It was too painful.

Their focuses shifted to the entryway, Jack gently walking through. Mary smiled wide, relief audible in her voice. "Jack! Hey -"

All three froze as they saw Lucifer following behind him. Rachel's blood ran cold, and she squeezed Robbie to herself, standing and backing away.

"Hey," Lucifer shrugged with a tiny grin.

Bobby was more than stunned. "Kid, what the Sam Hell?"

"It's alright, okay?" Jack assured as he moved closer. "He's here to help."

"He is?" Bobby asked skeptically as both Jack and Lucifer passed him.

"You know it, Longmire," Lucifer smirked. He paused, seeing Rachel. "Hey, Rach. Wow. Looking good, gotta say." He watched as she clutched Robbie protectively. "So _this_ is the little big guy, huh?"

"Don't," Rachel warned as Lucifer took a step closer.

Lucifer held up his hands. "Easy, Tiger Mom. Just want to say hi." He examined Robbie, who dared to hold eye contact with him. "Wow. You're like a little spitting image of your dad, aren't ya? Same shiny hair too. Jeez Louise. You're lucky. You swam out of a good gene pool, kid." Lucifer sighed. "Well, Robbie, I'm your grandpa. You can call me Gramps. Or 'My King.' You know, whatever."

"He won't be calling you anything," Rachel seethed.

"Rach," Lucifer sighed, "I mean, it's really not nice to be so rude. He _is_ my grandkid, after all."

"No, he's not."

"Riiiiiight. 'Kay. So, Azazel's bloodline … where do ya think that came from, huh?" Lucifer pursed his lips. "Come on. Let's face it: I know way more about the little guy than you or Sam will ever."

Bobby approached, but Rachel's look halted him. "You don't know a damn thing about him," she shot back to Lucifer. "And you never will."

Lucifer nodded, anything but agreeable. "Sure. Okay."

Mary watched as he walked passed them into the maps room, her eyes rounding as she looked Rachel over, then to Bobby. "Call Sam. Now."

As Bobby pulled out his phone, he saw Rachel heading toward the maps room, Robbie remaining in the library. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, catching her arm. "You aren't going in there."

"I'm not leaving Mary alone!" Rachel argued.

"She's alright."

"No." Rachel yanked out of Bobby's grip, looking at Robbie. "Stay. Here," she said to him, her tone somewhere between desperate and commanding. Before Bobby could object, she left.


	69. Chapter 69

**_S13 E23 "Let The Good Times Roll" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

In the maps room, Lucifer eyed Maggie's body that laid on the table, cleaned up but covered with a sheet. Jack and Mary followed him in. "Hmm. So you're leaving dead bodies on tables now. Nice."

"We were waiting," Mary replied, "to give her a Hunter's funeral."

Jack smiled a little to Mary as Rachel came in. "You won't have to," he said. "My father, he's gonna bring Maggie back to life."

Lucifer looked surprised at best. "I am?" He glanced over at Rachel. "Where's little man?" Nodding, he waited through her glare and stiff silence, giving a tsk. "Wow. So cold, Rach."

Mary leaned into Jack. "Jack, what are you doing?"

"What I have to," Jack replied. "This ... it's my second chance."

"Second chance for what?" Rachel asked, brow wrinkling. "You had nothing to do with this."

Jack looked to her. "I need to do something good. If I can't be normal, then I need to right my wrongs."

"Jack—" Rachel began, interrupted by Lucifer.

"Yeah, uh, Jack," he said, "about this, uh, resurrection stuff - It's not always a great idea because, uh... you know, people come back...different."

"Well, Sam didn't," Jack argued.

"Right. Well, Sam's always been ... sort of different. You know what I mean? Some would say 'special.'" Lucifer looked to Mary and Rachel. "No offense." He was met with narrowed looks.

Jack gave him his own look. "You said you'd do anything."

Begrudgingly, Lucifer sighed. "Fine." He blew out a breath, readying himself. "Fine." With resignation, he laid his hand on Maggie's forehead.

Mary leaned in to Jack. "Has he done something to you?" she asked him.

"I heard that," Lucifer muttered, annoyed. "Heard it."

"Mary," Jack assured, "everything's gonna be fine."

"Okay," Lucifer said with an exhale, concentrating. His eyes glowed red, and Maggie sat up with a sudden gasp. Seeing Jack's smile, Lucifer straightened, snapping him out of the room as he, Mary, and Rachel remained. As Maggie looked around in utter confusion, his focus shifted when Robbie entered the room. "Hey, buddy."

"You brought Daddy back from the dead? And Maggie?" Robbie asked, passing Rachel. She went to grab him, but Lucifer froze her, Mary, and Maggie. The boy's innate curiosity was more than evident as he approached Lucifer without any apparent fear.

"Yep. Sure did. And I saved your mom too, once upon a time," Lucifer replied. He squatted down to look Robbie in the eyes.

"Don't talk to him!" Rachel warned.

"It's okay," Robbie assured. "He did a good thing, like me!"

"Baby, please," Rachel begged in a whisper, "you are _nothing_ like him."

"But he's Jack's daddy," Robbie replied, eyeing her. "And I'm like Jack." He looked back to Lucifer. "We are different than everyone, right?"

"That's right," Lucifer said with a smile, gaining Robbie's attention. "So smart. See, they just don't understand you, do they, Robbie? They won't let you grow, or use your power …" Lucifer shook his head as he glanced to Rachel. "They're afraid of you," he concluded. "That's why they don't want you to be a big boy."

"Robbie," Rachel said, "it's not true."

"But he did like me!" Robbie argued. "I brought Mommy back," he told Lucifer.

Lucifer nodded. "You're pretty awesome. Hey," he said, lowering his voice, "want to come with me and Jack? I can show you super cool stuff. You can be a grown up around me."

"Robbie!" Rachel gasped; she, Mary, and Maggie were silenced by a snap of Lucifer's fingers.

"Not nice to interrupt, Rach," he chided, keeping his eyes on Robbie. "So," he said to Robbie, "what do you think? Wanna come and learn to do cool stuff like Jack?"

"You hurt Mommy, though," Robbie murmured.

"Oh, I didn't want to," Lucifer replied to the boy, feigning innocence. "But she wouldn't even let me just talk to you. And then things got tough." He frowned. "Seems kinda mean, doesn't it? I mean, all I've tried to do is help her and your dad."

"I don't like when people are mean to Mommy and Daddy."

Lucifer shrugged. "Logical. Hey, you know who will really be mean to them?" He leaned in. "Michael." Pausing, he pursed his lips. "But, he's really strong. Not sure if anybody is strong enough to fight him."

"I am!" Robbie said, Rachel watching in silent distress.

With a snap, Lucifer pointed. "You know, you could be. With some help."

Robbie rolled his lips together in thought. "Can you show me how to be strong?"

Rachel's heart was breaking, unable to move, unable to speak. Her eyes welled with tears, watching her small son be manipulated by the devil himself, all because he was convinced he should be more like Jack—grown. Able to fight Michael. Able to protect his family. "Sure can," Lucifer replied.

Robbie looked back at Rachel with a grin. "I can help, Mommy! Jack's daddy will show me how, then I'll come back!" Despite Rachel's panicked face, he looked back at Lucifer with confidence. "Okay, ready!"

A heartbeat later, Sam, Dean, and Castiel burst through the upper level door. "Jack? Jack!" Sam shouted. He saw Maggie, Mary, and Bobby standing around the maps table, dumbfounded.

"He's not … He's gone," Mary replied, stunned, seeing Sam's dread.

Rachel's wail caught Sam off guard; he tore down the stairs, seeing her in a crumpled heap on the floor in the corner, her face buried in her hands. "Baby," he breathed, panic swelling to an uncontrollable height as he tried to examine her. "What happened?"

Rachel couldn't speak, her devastation leaving her in a fit of tears. "Please," Sam begged, trying to see her face as she crushed herself to his chest. His eyes shot up to Mary, his heart stopping when he saw his mother's pale expression. "Mom?!" he asked, clutching Rachel tightly, still confused.

"He took Robbie too," Mary barely managed, seeing the brokenness fill Sam's eyes at light speed.

"No," he shuddered, squeezing tightly to Rachel. His stomach dropped, ice flooding his veins. "No, he …" His lips parted; he pulled Rachel to stand, clinging to her as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"He told Robbie he could make him strong," Mary whispered, sniffing her own tears back. "We couldn't stop him."

Supporting Rachel, Sam's hand sank into her hair as she sobbed against him. "Shh," he urged. He knew he didn't sound very convincing, but he had to be her strength. She needed him to be her rock. "It's okay, baby girl." He stroked her hair, pressing her as close as he could. He stared blankly above her at the wall, a tremble in his hands. "We're gonna find him. Both of them."

Dean felt like he was somewhere between wanting to hurl and wanting to snap someone's neck. He watched, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. There wasn't anything more that he wanted than to make Lucifer pay for what he did to Jack, his brother, and Rachel. Even killing him didn't sound satisfactory enough.

* * *

A while later, Rachel parted from Sam. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. "I'll …" She shivered as she tried to continue. "I'll help Maggie."

Before Sam could stop her, Rachel was guiding Maggie back into the library. He knew she needed to occupy herself somehow. And he also knew that every single second his son was missing was one too many. "How did Michael and Lucifer both get here?" he demanded, pacing around the table behind Dean and Castiel, venom in his eyes. "How did they open a rift?"

"You know what?" Dean said. "It doesn't - We - we've gotta find Jack and Robbie before Michael does whatever the hell he's gonna do, okay?" Pissed, he felt for his phone. "I-I'll call Jody and everybody else."

Across from them, Bobby eyed him. "You're gonna put out an APB on the Devil?"

Dean narrowed his focus. "Yeah, I am," he said before he walked away.

"I'll check angel radio," Castiel said before he followed suit.

"Sam," Mary said gently, gaining his attention, "even if we find Lucifer, how we gonna stop him?"

Sam's jaw ticked as he thought it over. "I don't know," he said, "but I'll do whatever it takes to get my son and Jack back."

Making his way into the library, he caught sight of Rachel slipping out toward the kitchen. Maggie was staring blankly ahead, dazed and seeming more than confused. "Maggie?" Sam asked gently, seeing her turn in surprise with wide eyes. "Hey, sorry. You okay?"

Maggie looked him over. "I'm alive, so... yes?"

Sam swallowed. "Right. Listen, I-I know this is weird - so...weird - but, um, before you...died, do you remember anything about the person that killed you?"

Maggie's brow wrinkled. "Does it matter? Kinda seems like you have bigger, you know, Satan-y problems."

Thinking about Robbie and Jack missing sent Sam's stomach into a series of flips. "Yeah, but - but we're - we're dealing with those. Mostly. Um… But yes, it does matter. It matters to me."

Maggie drew in a breath. "I... I never saw his face, but, uh... I saw his eyes."

Rachel came back into the library, holding a steaming mug. "Hope it's okay," she said softly, setting the tea down in front of Maggie.

"I'm sure it's great," Maggie replied. "Thanks."

As Maggie sipped from the mug, Sam looked to Rachel, seeing the utter sickness he felt mirrored in her. He watched as she silently lingered near him, shutting his eyes in defeat at her brokenness.

* * *

In a clearing in a thick patch of woods, Lucifer, Jack, and Robbie gazed at the night sky. "Magnificent, isn't it?" Lucifer asked Jack.

"It really is," Jack replied.

"Can we go all the way up there?" Robbie asked.

"Sure," Lucifer said.

Robbie eyed him. "How are we gonna fight Michael?"

Lucifer pursed his lips. "Whelp, uh … We're not." He held up a hand to Robbie and Jack. "Not yet. Look, guys … We have a chance to be the Three Amigos here. We have an adventure to make, right?"

* * *

Back in the bunker, Dean came into the maps room with purpose. "All right," he said, "Jody's lookin'. So far, Nada."

Seated at the maps table, Castiel frowned. "Yeah, angel radio is nothing but static, which is disturbing."

"Great," Dean grumbled, his arms flopping to his sides. "Well, we'll just add that to the list."

"So what do we do now?" Mary asked.

A thunderous banging sound resounded on the front entry as the lights in every room began to flicker. The dance became more violent, making Maggie, Sam, and Rachel panic. "What's happening?" Maggie asked.

Silently, Sam pushed to his feet and guided Rachel into the maps room with himself, Maggie following behind. He kept a grip on Rachel as the assault on the bunker continued. "What the hell?" he murmured, looking to the door on the second level. His expression shifted with his realization. "Oh, no."

"What the hell is that?" Bobby asked.

Gritting his teeth, Sam whirled Rachel around and pushed her toward his mother. "Mom, Bobby: Take Maggie and Rachel, get them out of here. Go through the garage."

"What?" Rachel asked, fighting Sam's direction and facing him. "No way."

"Baby, please—"

"No!"

The banging grew louder, the door shaking on its hinges with urgency. "Take them, Bobby. We'll buy you some time," Dean insisted.

"No!" Mary objected.

"Mom!"

"Please!" Sam begged her, also begging Rachel.

"Go!" Dean ordered.

"Go," Bobby said to Mary gently, looking at Rachel.

"No way in hell," Rachel replied, feeling Sam's resistance as she stood next to him. She watched as Mary and Bobby guided Maggie out, turning to look at Sam when they disappeared.

"Baby girl, please," Sam urged.

"No," Rachel said firmly, taking his arm with a sure grip.

As the banging continued, a piercing bright light sliced through the top, bottom, and side gaps of the door. The wood started to split open, the door bursting and falling to the ground. Sam shoved Rachel behind himself as he and Dean drew their guns. Michael appeared in the doorway with a little smirk that made Sam's stomach sick. He and Dean fired rounds into the archangel as he ascended to the lower level with them. The bullets ricocheted off of Michael's body, but it didn't stop them from unloading their clips. Sam kept in front of Rachel, his arms taunt as he fired his weapon.

With a snarl, Castiel drew his angel blade and lept in for an attack. Michael's power outdid him, though—Michael struck him across the face, and Castiel was thrown across the maps table, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor with a groan.

Michael's focus shifted to Sam and Rachel. "There she is," Michael smirked at Rachel. "My niece. Barachiel's little blasphemous bitch."

"Oh great," Rachel quipped with a glare to Michael, "more shit relatives. Just what I need."

Michael chuckled, examining what he could see of her. He then looked at Sam. "You really thought you could run from me? And you thought you could hide her and the boy?" His lip curled with his grin. "It's gonna be fun taking them from you."

Flipping his gun around, Sam pushed Rachel further away from Michael toward the panel as he lept at Michael with a snarl. Before he could even attempt a strike, Michael's power overwhelmed him. Michael landed two heavy hits into Sam's jaw and head, knocking him and his gun to the ground.

The archangel snagged Rachel, drawing her to himself with his unseen force. Dean tried to intercept, only to be thrown back against the wall. "You disgust me," Michael said to Rachel in a hushed tone. "But I need power, so I need an army. You'll have to do as a broodmare for now."

As Dean rifled through his bag, Michael shifted his focus. He launched Rachel across the room, her back hitting a panel with force, her head banging against the controls and rendering her unconscious. Sam tried to press up against the raging ache of his body, his stomach sick as he saw her face down on the concrete, lifeless.

Pulling out an angel blade, Dean attacked Michael with venom in his eyes. Despite his best attempts, he couldn't get an upper hand on Michael. The archangel's brute force as he knocked Dean around made Dean more than disoriented, unable to lash back as Michael snagged him by the throat. Straining, Dean tried to suck in air. "Yeah, how did you -"

"Get here? " Michael finished. "Easy. I made a deal. And now, this world is mine. I can save it, purge it of sin."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that really worked on your rock."

Sam struggled to get up, unable to muster enough strength to keep him steady. Michael pulled Dean up to his feet, his grip around his neck tightening. "I'm not perfect. Yes, I made mistakes. But second time's the charm. And you …" Dean spurted as Michael lifted him off the ground, squeezing harder. "Dean Winchester will be the first life that I take in this world, first soul I save. Some would consider that an honor."

Dean glared at Michael despite his disadvantage. "Well, as Shakespeare once said: Eat me, dickbag."

Sam pressed to his hands and knees, pained as he watched Dean struggle to breathe. "Jack," he whispered desperately. "Jack, I don't know where you are, and I don't even know if you can hear this prayer, but we need you. We need you."

* * *

Looking up at the night sky, Jack, Lucifer, and Robbie focused on the stars. "Look at all those worlds, Jack. We're gonna take the grand tour, buddy. You, me, and the kid. We're gonna explore every nook and cranny of creation. We might even learn something, maybe come up with some improvements."

Jack's brow wrinkled ever so slightly. "Improvements?"

"Yeah, yeah," Lucifer said dismissively. "We'll - we'll talk about that later."

Robbie tugged on Lucifer's jacket hem. "When are you gonna show me?" he asked with a bounce, more than eager.

"Uh …" Lucifer paused, giving a small shrug. "Soon. Ish." He squatted down to Robbie's eye level. "Patience, silky-haired grasshopper. We'll get there."

Jack glanced over his shoulder, staring blankly at the darkness around himself as he listened to the echo of Sam's prayer:

" _Jack, Jack, I don't know where you are, and I don't even know if you can hear this prayer. We need you."_

Lucifer caught his hesitance as he stood. "What's up, buddy? You alright?"

* * *

Back at the bunker, Dean struggled in Michael's iron grip. "Could've done this quick," Michael chided, seeing Dean begin to fade, "but I wanted to enjoy it, that moment when the soul leaves the body ... it's beautiful."

Just as Dean was ready to pass out, he and Michael were hit with a shock wave. They both fell to the floor as Jack appeared behind them.

With a shaky hand, Sam pushed himself to stand, leaning on the wall with a few huffed breaths, eyes wide. "Jack."

"I heard your prayer," Jack said, his narrowed focus locked on Michael.

With a flap of wings, Lucifer appeared a bit behind Jack's right shoulder. "Yeah, it's me," he said, catching Sam's surprised and angry look. "Yay!"

Rachel groaned, stirring on the floor next to Lucifer. Sam fought the ache in his body and shoved past Lucifer to get to her. "Easy," he murmured to her as he lifted her slowly to her feet. He shut his eyes, resisting the way the room swayed as she clung to him, her full body weight against him as he supported her. He bent down to her ear, steadying her with one hand as he smoothed her hair with the other. "You okay?"

Rachel blinked hard, focusing ahead of herself. Her lips parted when she saw Lucifer. "I'm going to kill you!" she screamed.

Sam held her back as she fought against his firm grip. "Easy," he repeated, though he more than felt her rage against Lucifer. Still, he didn't want her to hurt herself. He turned to Lucifer. "Where's our son?" he demanded, his tone frigid.

Lucifer sighed. "Look, you guys … come on. You can't possibly think this life is the best for him."

Sam propped Rachel against a panel, fully facing Lucifer. "I said, _where is our son_?" With pursed lips, Lucifer snapped Robbie back into the room. Sam snatched him, drawing him to himself with relief as he steadied Rachel. "Go," he quietly urged Rachel.

Rachel shook her head, lips parted. "Sam—"

"Baby, please."

"I …" She hated how stuck she felt, unable to tear herself from Sam's side, unwillingly to let go of his protection.

Seeing how Rachel silently remained, clearly afraid, Sam turned his focus to Lucifer. I'm going to kill you," he seethed.

Lucifer sighed. "Just don't come crying to me when your little demon-nephilim spawn's done something ridiculous because you wouldn't let him be who he is." He turned to Jack. "Uh, we done, buddy? Buddy?"

As Michael starts to stand up, Jack's eyes glowed and he raised his hand. "You hurt my friends!" he yelled. Michael groaned in pain as black liquid ran out of his eyes and ears. "You hurt my family!" As Jack squeezed his fist, Michael dropped to his knees, screaming in pain.

"Whoa," Lucifer murmured with a raised brow as Castiel slowly stood across from him.

Michael shot Lucifer a venomous look. "Lucifer, we - we had a deal!"

Panicked, Lucifer ushered Jack on. "Okay, game over." He gritted his teeth when Jack didn't move, giving a snap. "Hey, buddy, let's, uh, let's, uh ... split, okay?"

Jack turned to Lucifer. "What does he mean?"

"I-I-I don't know. I didn't - I didn't hear," Lucifer stammered.

"They had a deal," Dean explained, still trying to recover from Michael's assault. "Lucifer gets you and Robbie, and Michael gets everything else. He's gonna nuke our world, Jack. Just like he did his."

Jack turned to Lucifer. "Is that true?"

Lucifer brushed it off. "No! It's not."

"Is that why you wanted us to leave?"

Sam's brow wrinkled as he held Rachel and Robbie close. "Leave?"

Jack looked to him. "He said - he said we'd go to the stars. All three of us. He said Robbie could feel like he belonged."

Castiel glared at Lucifer. "What, and you're just gonna leave the rest of us here to burn?"

"Okay, hold on a second," Lucifer said, getting on the defensive, holding his arms out. "Let's slow down, 'cause I ... I'm not currently the bad guy here."

"Yeah, tell that to my son, who you deceived," Sam sneered. "Tell that to Maggie."

Jack kept his focus on Lucifer. "What about Maggie?"

"Maggie saw the eyes of the person who killed her," Sam replied, eyeing Lucifer. "The glowing, red eyes."

Lucifer scoffed. "You're gonna - you're gonna believe this guy? Come on, man! Sam's a hater!"

"You kidnapped my _son_ ," Sam snarled, crushing Rachel and Robbie to himself. "You tried to kill my fiancée!"

"He would say anything to get you on his side. Besides, it wasn't kidnapping. Robbie _wanted_ to go, to learn who he really is."

Jack's eyes glowed as he moved toward Lucifer, his hand outstretched. "Tell me the truth!" he commanded.

Lucifer's eyes lit up, his head lulling a little to the side as he began to speak on autopilot. "She saw me when I was scouting out the bunker. She saw me and she screamed, and then...so I crushed her skull with my bare hands. And it was warm and wet, and I liked it. And I took Robbie because he's just as powerful as you are. I needed him to serve me. Plus I knew it'd kill Sam and Rachel." With suddenness,  
Lucifer's eyes returned to normal. He was obviously a little dazed and confused.

Jack looked at him in horror. "You're not my father. You're a monster."

With a growl, Lucifer yelled. "Come on, man!" Enraged, he bellowed with force, his eyes glowing red. The sound shot straight through Sam's and Dean's ear drums, the rest of the group seemingly unaffected. Rachel was surprised she wasn't. The two men cowered down against the sound, wincing in pain. "Okay," Lucifer said when he stopped as the brothers straightened. "I tried with you. I really tried with you."

"Everything you told me was a lie," Jack spat.

"Because I told you what you wanted to hear, man. So what?! I killed the girl! Big deal! She's a - she's a human! She doesn't matter!"

"So am I!"

Lucifer pointed at Jack. "Yeah? And that's your problem. You're too much like your mother."

Castiel stepped forward a little. "Jack …" Sam followed suit, keeping Rachel and Robbie back as he moved in a bit.

"Stay back," Jack ordered them both. "I'll handle him."

Lucifer steppes in closer to Jack. "Will you?" He sighed. "Oh, buddy. We could've been something, you and me. We could've remade the universe. It would've been great. We could've been better gods than Dad. And I really wanted that, pal. I wanted that. But now if I can't have it with you, I ... I don't need ya. I just need your power."

Lucifer produced an angel blade from his sleeve. "Jack!" Dean yelled.

"No!" Castiel protested.

Before anyone could stop him, Lucifer slashed a slit on Jack's neck, sucking away his grace with a shudder. When he was finished, he healed the wound, his eyes lighting to the same color as Jack's usually did. Jack was left pale, looking ready to collapse.

"Jack," Sam murmured, stunned.

"Jack!" Castiel shouted.

Sam and Castiel rushed forward to grab Jack. As Sam touched Jack, an explosion of light enveloped them. Rachel shielded Robbie as she watched, horrified as Castiel was thrown down to the ground by the force of the explosion, while Sam was absorbed into it.

"Oh God," Rachel gasped, tears filling her eyes with realization. "Sam!"

"Sammy!" Dean yelled desperately, shocked. "Sammy!" He met Rachel's eyes, seeing the tears running down her cheeks. Sam, Lucifer, and Jack had disappeared.


	70. Chapter 70

**_I'd love to hear what you think! I'd be grateful for any feedback you'd like to leave! Thanks, and I hope you're enjoying the ride!_**

* * *

 ** _S13 E23 "Let The Good Times Roll" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters._**

* * *

Dean looked at Rachel for a long moment, both sharing pained, shocked expressions. "What just happened?" he asked Castiel, who shook his head.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted.

"The Devil won," Michael interjected, slowly standing and leaning against a wall. "That's what happened."

"You're dead!" Rachel screamed at the angel, leaving Robbie behind and bolting for Michael. Castiel intercepted her, holding her back.

"Rachel, stop," he said firmly, keeping her still. He saw the venom in her eyes that mixed with her tears. "Stop," he urged in a gentler voice, feeling her quiver.

Dean met Rachel's eyes, giving her a small nod. Rachel pushed away from Castiel, unable to control her tremble as she went back to Robbie. She drew him closer, her stomach sinking. Was Sam dead? Where had he gone? Would she ever see him again?

* * *

Sam landed on the ornate floor of a church with a harsh thud, the ache growing rapidly in his body with every assault. Struggling, he pushed to his knees, using his palms to balance himself. He saw Lucifer standing in front of him, holding the lethargic Jack by his coat collar.

"Really, Sam? Hitching a ride?" Lucifer asked, exasperated. "I mean, do you ever quit?"

Sam's nostrils flared a little as he eyed him. "Go to hell."

Lucifer nodded slightly. " Hell, yeah. Been there. Done that." He dropped Jack to the ground, turning with a small satisfied smile and kicking Sam in the face. Sam was knocked to the ground, his spine crushed to the floor as he groaned. "You know," Lucifer said, approaching him as he tried to roll to his side. "I really hate you, Sam." He gave another kick into Sam's ribs. Sam curled inward, the raw ache nearly consuming him. "I hate your fiancée," Lucifer continued, landing another kick into his stomach. "And I hate your little mutt son." Driving his foot with power, Lucifer kicked Sam in the back. Sam cried out with a snarl, the pain making him ill. "I can't decide if I want to enslave them, or kill them."

* * *

Watching as Rachel cooled down, Castiel turned to Michael. "How do we stop him?"

"You don't," Michael replied, still trying to recover from Jack's assault.

"You'd better come up with another answer, Dickweed," Rachel snapped. Dean held his hand out, giving her a small look of understanding.

"After consuming the Nephilim's grace," Michael continued, seemingly unfazed by Rachel's anger as he held her gaze, "Lucifer's juiced up. He's super-charged." He looked at Dean. "He'll kill the boy, your brother. Hell, he could end the whole universe if he put his mind to it. And you thought I was bad."

"No," Dean said, gritting his teeth. "No, you beat him. I saw you."

"When he was weaker, and I was stronger. Believe me, I'd love to rip my brother apart. But now in this banged up meatsuit... not happening. This is the end, of everything." He looked to Rachel. "There's only one person left with enough power to potentially beat him, or at least fight him without dying right away." The angel's focus shifted to Robbie, whose eyes rounded a little.

"Fuck that," Dean growled, immediately following Michael's sight line to his nephew. "There's no way in hell he's going anywhere near this."

"But," Robbie murmured, "I can help."

" _No_ ," Dean barked at the boy. "You listen to me," he said to Robbie, "this is not a debate. The answer is _no._ "

"Dean—" Rachel said, cut off before she could finish.

"No," Dean repeated. He searched Rachel's eyes for a long moment, then turned to Michael. "What if ... what if you had your sword?"

Castiel took a step forward. "Dean, no."

Ignoring him, Dean continued. "I am your sword. Your perfect vessel. With me, you'd be stronger than you've ever been."

"Oh, I know what you are," Michael assured.

"If we work together, can we beat Lucifer?"

"Dean!" Castiel objected.

"Can we?! " Dean shouted at Michael.

"We'd have a chance," Michael replied, looking him over.

"Dean, you can't," Castiel argued.

Dean turned to Castiel. "Lucifer has Sam. He has Jack. Cas, I don't have a choice!"

"Yes, you do," Rachel interrupted, gaining Dean's attention. "We can find something. We can—"

Dean wet his lips, taking a step toward her. "Rach," he said softly, "I love the crap out of you. That's why you need to stay with that boy—" He pointed to Robbie. "—and stay far away from this."

Lip quivering, Rachel examined Dean. "Dean," she whispered, on the verge of tears. "There's a way you haven't thought of."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "What way?"

"Me," Rachel said, straightening. She saw Dean's confusion. "I'm the daughter of an archangel. So … if we find my grace …"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head with a small laugh. "You're insane if you think I'd let you go against Lucifer."

"But—"

"Listen to me, kiddo," he said, moving in and stroking her cheek, blinking hard when he wiped away a tear, "the answer is no. But I'mma bring that giant lug back. Alright?"

She shook her head. "What about you?" she challenged.

Drying her tears with his thumb, he released her and looked back to Michael, who wore the tiniest of smiles. "If we do this, it's a one-time deal. I'm in charge. You're the engine, but I'm behind the wheel. Understand?"

* * *

Two Weeks Later

Rachel sat on her side of the bed and watched as Sam grabbed clothes from his bureau with a methodical approach. He stuffed them into his duffel, keeping his back to her as she played with the hem of her sweater.

Since Michael had taken control of Dean's vessel, things were far different in the bunker. Tensions were high, resources at an all-time low, and the conversation stale. Sam took the primary role of overall area hunter coordinator and "captain" of sorts, which automatically saddled him with an incredible amount of pressure. As a result, Sam had worried himself down to a hardened shell, something not missed by Robbie. It made Sam withdrawn, most of his days spent researching, contacting, and chasing after leads, no matter how vague.

Robbie became affected by his absence, the boy slowly alienating himself from his father. Robbie also allowed himself some serious "growth spurts" out of spite, something that Rachel knew killed Sam. The boy was now as big as a tall seven or eight year old, obviously taking his height, build, hair, and looks from his father. His comprehension was probably greater than average, and his skills even more arrayed and honed. His psychokinesis was stronger than ever. He was able to easily toss Bobby across the room with his mind, though Rachel didn't approve of Bobby offering himself as a test dummy. Robbie's favorite pastime lately was drawing demon and angel wardings in the third hall spare room, then using his powers to try to erase them. It was something Sam and Rachel mutually hated, and stopped whenever they could. The act was dangerous, scaring even Castiel, who monitored his training. It never ended well, Robbie usually coming out bloody and weak. Still, Robbie had hoped his efforts would make Sam realize what kind of power he held, convincing him he should be added to the team. Yet, Sam wanted him and Rachel safe, far away from the action. He wouldn't be swayed by anyone—not even his son.

Sam and Rachel, as a couple, hadn't been safe from the harsh bite of reality, either. Sam's patience was thin, though he tried earnestly to spare Rachel his sourness. Still, the two would argue nearly daily—about Sam needing to ask for help, and about whether Robbie should grow faster, to which Sam always answered no to both. Rachel hadn't forgotten about her suggestion to Dean before Michael possessed him. She just wasn't planning on bridging the subject with Sam at all. She already knew his answer would be a hard no even before she could lists the pros of it. So she remained silent, but not convinced. While she knew his worries, she also knew she didn't need his approval.

With a swallow, Rachel turned her eyes to stare down at the blanket under her as Sam layered a blue plaid shirt over his v-neck tee. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he turned and looked at her, closing the snaps. She was focused on the bed, lost deep in thought, nearly as far away as he was. With a sniff, he sat on his side of the bed next to her, noting how she didn't look up. "It'll take time to work through things, so I'll be probably about a week, maybe more," he murmured, watching her. She didn't give him any reaction. His heart broke, but it was only a drop in the bucket of his ache; it had been such a stressful, emotional time that he didn't even remember when the last time was that he didn't feel some sort of raw pain. Gently, he tucked her dark hair behind her ear. The cooler weather brought a change in her hair's texture, the waves normally present created by the humidity smoothed to thick, nearly straight curtains of silky chocolate, save for a gentle bent curl at the ends. He fingered it lovingly, shutting his eyes as the strands slipped between his fingers. He wanted to take her into his arms and hide with her, forgetting the world, forgetting the awful evil that stormed through their lives two weeks ago. She was his peace, his refuge, and she was so incredibly distant-something he had done. "I'll call you when I get down there," he added, his voice even softer, wrestling with wanting to delay his trip so he could stay home longer with her.

"Okay," Rachel replied in an equal tone, still looking at the blanket. Their fight only an hour before left her drained. She wanted to yet again beg Sam to take her with him, to stop fighting alone, but it hadn't worked any other time, including just a while ago. He had denied her company for Oklahoma, Nevada, Indiana, and now Georgia. Why would he change his mind now, right before he was ready to leave? In fact, just before they fell into a thick silence in their room while he packed, he was more than adamant about telling her how he didn't want her anywhere near the fight against Michael. It was the biggest thorn in her side with him. Why was everyone else involved but her? Ketch's words to her only a month ago rang through her head daily for the last two weeks. Sam kept her prisoner while everyone else was encouraged to hunt, including Maggie. Even Ketch was brought back in, after Sam had nearly throttled him for getting involved. It was frustrating as all hell. Sam told her it was all "to protect her," but she didn't want to be protected. She wanted to fight—for Dean, for Sam, for the world.

"I wish …" Sam stopped, his hand lowering to cover hers, stilling hers as she rolled the blanket material between her fingers. "I wish I was here on Friday."

Rachel wet her lips. She had nearly forgotten. Her heart softened at the idea of his memory and his apparent regret. "You need to follow the lead," Rachel replied, looking into his eyes, seeing the glassiness in her own mirrored there. There was no hidden layer of guilt in her look or her tone. She wanted him to pursue the Atlanta lead. It had serious potential. "One unmarked calendar day isn't worth risking that."

Sam swallowed hard, examining her. "It's not just a day," he argued gently. He flexed his fingers over hers.

"It doesn't matter right now."

"You _always_ matter." He tipped her chin up as she tried to look away. "Always."

Unable to resist the call of his embrace, Rachel pressed herself to Sam, who drew her close, shutting his eyes as he held her tightly. He drew in her scent with a shudder, barely biting back his tears. "Shit. I'm sorry, baby girl," he whispered, pressing little kisses on the top of her head.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, clinging to his wash worn shirt as he stroked her, breathing in his cologne, drawing his warmth to herself as she felt the power of his body around her.

"For … for everything."

"None of this is your fault."

"The way I've been is."

"You can't expect to be happy right now."

Sam raked his fingers through Rachel's hair, dipping down to kiss the skin of her cheek he exposed. His lips lingered over it. "I expect to be better to you. To Robbie. I expect more of myself."

Rachel pulled back, tracing over his thickening beard as she searched his eyes. "You're doing what you can," she reminded him. "That's all you can do." She laid her finger over his lips as he began to protest. "It is. And I know you want to do more, but you can't, Sammy." She combed his hair from his face and paused, taking in a small breath of courage. "Not alone."

Sam pressed his lips together, drawing a deep breath through his nose. "Rachel," he said slowly, "I'm _not_ going to change my mind."

"If you would just—"

"I'm _not._ "

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as her hand dropped to her lap. Despite her mind screaming at her to stop, her heart wanted to fight—not to be right, but to let Sam see just how wrong he was so she could help him. "This is insane. You _need_ to realize what you're doing to me," she argued.

"And what is that?"

"You're pushing me away."

"I'm trying to keep you safe!"

"I'm a _hunter,_ dammit!" Rachel shouted, standing as she balled her hands into fists at her sides, pacing a couple steps near the foot of the bed. "I am _not_ some fragile freaking China doll you get to keep in a display case!"

Sam stood in front of her, his jaw ticking. "Rachel—"

"No," Rachel interrupted, holding up her hand, trying to control the tremble coursing through her. "I'm done with this. I'm done with … with being hidden here. I'm done _not_ fighting because you're afraid." She waved her arm out. "I'm done with you thinking you need to protect me all the damn time, while you leave yourself wide open. I'm done with being a second rate accessory."

With pause, Sam examined her. His heart raced, his adrenaline pumping with his fear. In so many ways, she was right. Still, he couldn't bear the idea of losing her. He had lost his brother, his rock. He couldn't lose his lover, the mother of his son. She was his safety, his peace. It would break him. "I'm trying to protect you because I love you," he reasoned, his desperation and frustration bleeding through his tone.

"I don't want protection," she snarled. She had never felt so angry at Sam before. She didn't know it was even possible. "I want you to wake the hell up! I want you to see what you're doing to me, and to yourself!" Despite his towering height and broadness over her, she bridged the gap with an aggressive presence, one that left him no doubt of her inner strength. "I want you to see how all you're doing is proving Ketch right!"

Her words stung more than any bullet or knife he had ever taken. It froze him, his feet cemented into the floor. Her anger was palpable, her words like blades in his ears, leaving a gaping, festering wound. His nostrils flared a little as he looked down at her, sickened by her feelings, and by the reality behind them. With a sniff and a nod, he turned away from her, unable to respond. The only response he had would be to explode, to let the last two week's worth of anger, doubt, fear, and pain out. And she deserved better.

Rachel watched as Sam slid on his jacket and slung his bag over his shoulder. His calm, practiced silence made her pulse skyrocket. This wasn't how she wanted things to go. She didn't want to fight, but she wanted this over. She wanted him to wake up, to take her with him, to finally allow himself to trust in her. "Say something, dammit!" she shouted, desperate to finally hash things out.

Sam turned to her, looking down at her as he steadied the bag. A million words swarmed through his head, but none came out. None that addressed anything she said. None that he actually wanted to say. There was too much to say, and he couldn't possibly even begin to address it all. Not in the time constraint he was under. "I'll call you when I get there," he said gently, pained as he left the room, the door remaining partially open.

Rachel swallowed as she watched him leave, stunned. Sam not resolving the argument before leaving was unexpected, probably as her vile anger had been for him. He was choosing to leave without hatred, but his choice felt like a violation of her own ability to choose. She didn't want to leave things unsettled for yet another week, or longer. She wanted to get to end of it all, to resolve it, and the only way that would happen is if they agreed to talk.

She waited a few long minutes, faintly hearing the front door of the bunker close. Her eyes shut with the sound, a pit rising in her stomach. She was done standing on the sidelines, waiting for Sam to come to his senses. He wouldn't, not without a push. And his unwillingness to hear her was the push she needed. "Castiel," she said softly. Unlike every time before, the angel's fluttered entrance didn't make her jump. She opened her eyes and stared at the ajar door, her jaw tightening. "I want you to help me do something," she said to him, a surprising evenness to her voice.

Castiel's brow wrinkled as he studied her profile. Everything about her was different, including the way she failed to see Sam off at the door. Something had happened—something that put Rachel on a new course. The energy she emitted was unlike any other he ever experienced with her. "What is it?" he asked.

Resolved, Rachel drew in a deep breath. She looked to Castiel, a tiny, confident smile ghosting over her mouth. "You're going to help me find my grace."

Castiel's lips parted. "What?"

"You heard me." Rachel eyed him. "I want you to help me restore my grace."

"Does Sam know—"

"No."

"But … This isn't what he would want."

"I don't give a shit what Sam wants," Rachel snapped, surprising him. "This is what _I_ want. And if you want to get Dean back, we are going to need all the power possible. I'm it. I'm what's left, at least until Jack restores." She stepped toward him. "Robbie isn't an option, because Sam would never forgive me for involving him, and he's not just my son." She lifted her chin. "But Sam isn't my father. He doesn't control me. So, help me. Help me help _us_. Because Sam's blind selfishness could get Dean killed."

Castiel ran a hand over his face. She had a major point, and he was feeling more than desperate. Restoring Rachel's grace could change her completely, though. It was vastly unexplored territory, highly experimental. If she changed while Sam was gone, he'd be devastated even more so than he was already. Castiel felt guilt flower within as he wrestled with what to do, remembering his walk through Rachel's mind while she slept many weeks ago. "I may know where to begin."


	71. Chapter 71

"Want some coffee?"

An hour later, Rachel looked up from the weathered book she was reading, finding Mary standing in the entryway to the library. "I'm alright, thanks," Rachel replied.

"Robbie told me you were reading," Mary continued, sipping from her mug. "I stopped him from drawing again. That boy is headstrong, just like his father."

"Don't I know it," Rachel muttered. "He's so desperate to prove himself to Sam. He wants so badly to be accepted by his father, but he already is. But because he's not in the thick of everything, he doesn't think he is."

Mary nodded. "I can't imagine the position that puts you both in."

Rachel sighed. "A really crappy one."

Mary gave a quick scan of the larger text she could read from the distance she stood. "A directory?"

"Trying to be creative for leads on Dean," Rachel reasoned with a small, forced smile. In truth, she was after the location for Capitilum Nine. Castiel said he recalled it once being said that Capitilum Nine was where extra stores of grace had been once kept. There might even be enough to restore Jack as well. It was a long shot, but all they had left were long shots.

With a nod, Mary approached, sitting across from her at the desk. "Bullshit," she said in a soft tone, holding Rachel's gaze.

Though she was surprised at Mary's doubt, Rachel held her cards close. "Sorry?"

"You and Sam haven't exactly been in the greatest of places these last couple weeks," Mary continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because the Rachel I know would've seen Sam off, just as the Sam I know would've kept his grip on you until the very last moment he could." She tipped her chin to the book. "Instead, you're absent, and he looked like an 18-wheeler hit him before he left. So. What's going on?"

Rachel shut her eyes, rubbing her temple. "Mary—"

"Rachel, I'm not dumb. I know you and Sam have been fighting a lot. But regardless of the arguments, I also know how you both are right now isn't normal." Mary narrowed her focus. "And I know that Michael wouldn't go to another chapter house, nor would you think he ever would. So, tell me what you're doing."

Rachel drew in a deep breath. She hadn't planned on telling anyone what she was doing, but there was no choice. Besides, if she was going to be taken seriously by those around her after being on the bench for weeks, she couldn't be afraid to tell. "I'm going to Capitilum Nine for my grace," she said, looking Mary in the eyes.

Mary's lips parted. It was a very unexpected answer. "Rachel …"

"Look," Rachel interrupted, "I know no one likes the truth, but the truth is, we are on the losing side. We _need_ power. And I'm what we've got."

"So this is why Sam is angry?"

Rachel wet her lips, playing with the corner of the page she was reading. "No. He doesn't want me anywhere near this as a human, let alone as an angel. He doesn't know I'm doing this."

Mary's eyes rounded. "What?!"

"It's _my_ choice," Rachel insisted, a grit to her tone. "No, he doesn't want me helping out there. But that's not _his_ choice anymore. He doesn't have to like my choice. He just has to respect it, just like I've respected his choice to dump me here for _months_." Her anger rose; she pushed to her feet. She didn't mean to take it out on Mary, but everything was still so raw, so fresh. "So, I'm going. I'm going to restore my grace, and do what _I_ can to help Dean."

Mary was silent for a long moment. "You're right," she said softly, nodding her head. She caught the surprise in Rachel's reaction. "It is your choice. But what about Robbie?"

With a swallowed growl, Rachel turned away from her, digging her fingertips into her forehead. "Robbie will be fine."

Mary stood. "Look," she said, walking over to her, "everything I've heard about grace restoration has one thing in common: It's unpredictable. All I'm saying is—"

"Unpredictable or not, I _need_ to do this." Rachel looked into Mary's eyes. "I'm all we've got, until Jack is restored. The longer we debate ethics, the more time we give Michael a shot at destroying our world. Sure, it's a wild card, but we've got to play it."

Bobby cleared his throat from the entryway; Rachel turned and found him, Jack, and a few others observing her. "Great," she muttered, shaking her head. "Well, here it goes: I'm going to find my grace at Capitilum Nine and restore it. Anyone who would like to object, speak now, or forever hold your peace." The group remained silent. "Fabulous," Rachel said, shutting the directory with a sigh. "Mary's in charge until we get back."

"Rachel," Bobby said gently, taking a step forward as she turned to leave, "are you sure this is wise?"

Biting back her frustrated tears, she paused and looked to him. "Sure?" She chuckled under he breath. "Hell, I'm not sure of anything right now, Bobby. The only thing I'm sure of is, I've _got_ to try what I can."

"Is it worth it?" Bobby asked, stepping closer. "Is it potentially worth your humanity?"

"Yeah," Rachel decided after a long pause. "Dean is." She squared her shoulders. "Because when I had to do the unthinkable to my cousin, Dean did that for me. He took that burden for me. So I'm going to try to take this one from him."

Giving her a nod, Bobby inhaled deeply. Concern was still reflected on his face, but acceptance won. "Alright."

Jack stepped in. "They've stored your grace?"

Rachel looked to Castiel. "Cas told me a memory he accessed in my past. My adoptive father had contacts there."

"Contacts?" Mary asked.

"My father was in contact with a man named William Calder, who worked out of the Philadelphia chapter house, Capitilum Nine, which was used to store grace and blood." Rachel drew in a breath. "Cas has reason to believe they extracted my grace when I was a child. So, they might have it stored there."

The others exchanged looks. "So, you were born with grace?" Jack asked.

Rachel nodded. "Apparently." She looked to the people surrounding her, meeting each of their eyes. "Jack is powerful. So is Robbie. With Jack down, and Robbie being just a child, this is our best move."

Robbie flashed into the room, his long hair rumpled, as if he had just finished a strenuous workout. His brow wrinkled as he looked at his mother. "You're doing it," he murmured after a moment's pause.

Rachel nodded. "I have to," she replied.

"If Dad would let me help, you wouldn't need to."

She didn't miss the bitterness in the boy's tone and expression. "Your dad is doing the best he can."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

With a heavy sigh, Rachel knelt in front of him. It was like looking at a miniature version of Sam's face, but with Dean's green colored eyes. "Dad loves you so incredibly much," she assured gently, tenderly combing his hair from his brow. "You need to know that."

Robbie shrugged. "I do." His body language was less than confident.

"He wants you safe, just like I do."

"I want to help!" Robbie argued.

Rachel exhaled deeply. "I know you do. And there are many ways you _are_ helping. Bobby says you pack and dip bullets better than anyone he's seen." She could see from his expression her assurance wasn't enough. "I know," she admitted in a whisper. "I know how you feel. How hard it is being on the sidelines."

"Then let me help, Mom," Robbie replied in an equal tone.

Rachel shook her head. "No, baby." She saw his disappointment. "This life … There are some things in this life that aren't meant to be shared. This is one of them." She lovingly stroked his face. "Robbie, you're an amazing boy. And there will be many fights you'll be in. But this isn't that fight." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Inhaling deeply, she added, "This is something I do _not_ want you telling your father." She saw his surprise, the mutual ripples of it over the group catching her attention. "I will tell Sam myself, but not right now," she said to the others, standing and drawing Robbie close to her side. "I would appreciate discretion from each of you."

"When?" Mary challenged. "When will you tell him?"

Rachel lifted her chin a little as she looked Mary over. "When the time is right."

"There will never be a right time," Mary said softly, seeing through Rachel's facade of strength to her nerves lingering within. "Rachel. This is dangerous. This isn't the kind of secret you want to keep from him."

"I know, but I need to," Rachel begged in a hushed tone, her voice breaking a little. "I _need_ to do this. I need to do what I can for Dean. He's family. And we take care of our own, no matter what."

Mary looked to Castiel, who took a step forward. "We have to go," he said to Rachel.

Rachel grabbed Robbie and drew him into a fierce hug. "I love you," she whispered, kissing the boy's head.

"I love you, Mom," the boy whispered back.

"Please be good for Mary and Bobby. No wardings."

Robbie was reluctant, but compliant. "Yes, ma'am."

"Jack," Rachel said, looking to him as she pulled back, "please watch out for him."

"Of course," Jack said with a nod. "What are uncles for?"

Rachel smiled a little at Jack's warmth. After pressing a lingering kiss to Robbie's forehead, she straightened, looking to Castiel. "I'll grab my bag."

* * *

"I still don't know why we didn't just teleport," Rachel yawned, clutching the wheel of the mustang she took from the garage as she drove.

Castiel sat next to her, glancing over at her. "Because you'll likely need plenty of rest after the restoration. Besides, teleporting isn't the best for new angels."

Turning up the heat, Rachel kept her focus out on the road in front of her as she drove east toward Pennsylvania. All that was keeping her awake on the monotonous drive was the end goal. After nearly ten hours into a nineteen hour drive, she needed the boost. "So, walk through it again with me." She glanced over at Castiel. "You know, the trip you took through my memory lane without permission."

Castiel's lips pursed, sighing in defeat. Rachel had been understandably pissed when he revealed his secret back at the bunker. "I was trying to help."

"Just _ask_ next time," she grumbled. "I mean, you don't just go poking around in people's brains without permission." She paused, brow arching. "Will _I_ be able to poke around in people's brains without permission?"

Castiel drew in a hesitant breath. "I'm not sure. But I will advise you not to rush into trying."

"I could really afford to know Sam's thoughts," Rachel muttered with a huff.

Seeing her residual anger, Castiel cleared his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Rachel was silent for a long moment. She wasn't sure if she wanted to. She hadn't been able to vent her frustrations with anyone, though, but she was afraid of sharing too much. "I just …" Unexpectedly, she let out a high-pitched frustrated growl, surprising Castiel. "He's just so damn stubborn, Cas!" The dam broke, her knuckles white as she tightened her grip around the steering wheel. "He's done _nothing_ but prove Ketch right repeatedly for the last two weeks. Dean is gone, and all of a sudden, I'm not a hunter anymore. Hell, I have been a 'hunter' to Sam since the day I met him."

"Sam values you," Castiel objected.

"As a fiancée," she corrected. "If he valued me as a hunting partner, I'd be on my way to Atlanta with him."

"He wants you safe."

"And what about all of you?" Rachel challenged. "I don't see him locking his mom up, or you. So, why won't he just admit that he doesn't think I can handle myself?"

Castiel shifted in his seat. "I don't think he thinks that."

"There's no other explanation, Cas. Robbie, I get. He's a kid, and he's trying to give him a normal childhood." Rachel laughed under her breath. "But eventually, he has to realize that nothing about our reality is _normal_. I mean, he's like an eight year-old demon-blooded nephilim boy that's really only less than a month old, packing and dipping bullets as a daily routine in a warded bunker, where he lives with people from an alternate earth, an angel, and a nephilim. The closest thing to normal Sam could ever give him is to let him hunt."

Silence lingered between them for several long moments, thick and oppressing. "So," Rachel finally said softly, "tell me it all again."

Castiel hesitated. "Are you sure?" She nodded, which didn't give him much assurance. "Alright."

 _Castiel looked around in the vastness of Rachel's mind. Judging from the lack of indicators in her present self, it was clear she wasn't currently aware of her lineage in the slightest. Her most intimate connections to her past were likely buried under several layers, perhaps existing without her even being aware._

 _He walked through the open corridors of the dream-like state of her mind, carefully peering around. It was comforting to see how she had positively cataloged her memories and thoughts of her time with him and the Winchesters. The warmth that surrounded her conscious from her time with Sam flowed over him, assurance that despite their hardships, she held pure, true love for him. Still, the brightness of her present was soon tainted at the edges with bleeding darkness from her past. Whatever he'd soon encounter wouldn't be pretty._

 _He stopped when he came to the incessant darkness, the source humming with energy. Well-buried memories vibrated within the mind, but were usually tucked away into a corner out of sight. They weren't easily accessed, but his power granted him the ability. What he would see in there were things Rachel likely didn't truly remember, or had purposefully ignored. In order for them to be in her apparent conscious, he would have to transfer them out of the darkness. And to do that would be potentially damaging to her as a person. Whatever he did, he couldn't alter any memories—no matter what._

 _Through the thickened curtain of ash, Castiel stepped into a darkened kitchen of a suburban home. It was a summer evening, crickets chirping melodically through opened, screened windows as a thin blanket of humidity hung in the air. He followed the path of light that filtered in from the living room, voices becoming clearer the closer he stepped. Boldly, he walked into the room, knowing the people inside couldn't see him, so long as he kept the veil over himself. If he, in any way, interacted with them, it could change Rachel's entire history._

 _A tall man in a blue button up shirt and khakis paced in front of a fireplace as a blonde-haired woman sat in a wingback armchair, wrapping herself in a summerweight cardigan._

" _She's sick!" Jeremy Lentz growled, pausing as he turned to his wife. "It's as if she can't stop herself."_

" _She's only a child," his wife, Cathy, argued. "You can't blame her when you've got all these books around. She's just curious."_

" _No, Cathy. This isn't curiosity. This is a part of her. It's inherent in her. We should've known that from the beginning, when her parents rambled on about the crossroads. I thought it was drugs. Turns out, it's the Devil."_

" _The Devil?!"_

" _I have a contact at Capitilum Nine." The man raise a hand to pause the woman. "It needs to be dealt with. Period."_

 _Cathy drew in a shaky breath. "By yourself? And how?"_

 _Jeremy examined her. "Intercession, and a cleansing." He turned to his bookshelf, pulling down a small box from the top shelf and opening it, withdrawing holy water, a crucifixion, and a small weathered book._

 _Cathy glanced toward the staircase leading to the bedrooms. "Please, Jerry, just … be easy on her."_

 _Castiel could see a small, thin dark-haired girl watching intently from the stairs, hidden from her parents' view by angles and shadows. "Dazi nahal sov ninezama," young Rachel whispered, her voice soft but sure._

" _Michael's fury," Castiel whispered as he translated the words. The girl had spoken in Enochian, but how could she if she was born without grace? "Perhaps she had some initially," he mused, watching as young Rachel, clad in brightly colored pajamas, scurried up the stairs with an eerie silence._

 _Jeremy seemed unaware of her spying as he climbed the stairs, sucking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. Castiel could see Jeremy's internal battle—Cathy was right. He had all of those books on demon possession, which he had bought after taking Rachel in. Guilt hung over him like a thick fog, fearing that he brought evil into his home, or made it with his lack of faith. Still, the chances of him admitting that were more than slim._

 _Castiel followed Jeremy to Rachel's room, a small bedroom decorated in weathered oak furniture and pale pink and yellow florals. Young Rachel sat on her bed, clutching a worn stuffed bear. "What's wrong, Daddy?" she asked as she looked up at Jeremy, seeming calmer than she should've been for how he examined her._

" _Daemone templum," Jeremy began after opening the book to a marked page, holding out his crucifix toward Rachel with a shaky hand, "ego praecipio tibi in nomine domini dimittere hac tum praetoria nave ad infernum, et unde venisti."_

 _Rachel's brow wrinkled. She was quiet for a long moment. "I'm not a demon, Daddy," she said matter-of-factly. Jeremy's lips parted. He stepped closer, uncapping the holy water and splashing some on her. Rachel's confusion grew, as did Jeremy's shock. "Daddy, I'm not evil!"_

 _Castiel watched as Jeremy closed the book and retreated from the room, all but slamming Rachel's door shut. He heard the child sigh, and glanced back over at her. As she blinked, her eyes turned a pale blue from their chocolate hue, a glow emanating from them. With a second blink, they returned to normal. "She once had power," Castiel murmured, surprised._

 _Walking through the wall, Castiel followed Jeremy as he retreated toward the living room, replacing the items in the box on the shelf. Cathy moved toward him, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. "Jerry," she whispered, seeing the panic in her husband's eyes, "what happened?"_

 _Jeremy didn't reply. He swept up a business card from the box and headed for the kitchen. A corded phone waited on the wall; he snagged it, and punched in the number on the card. Cathy followed him, pausing by his side as she listened. "Hello, Mister Kaye? This is Jeremy Lentz. … I was given your information by William Calder. … Yes, sir. … No, sir, I— … I don't know what's wrong with my daughter. She's … No, no reaction. … No, the incantation didn't work. … No, no effect from the holy water. … Tonight?" Jeremy looked at Cathy, then to the clock. "Yes, I'll bring her. I'm about two hours away. … Thank you."_

 _Jeremy hung up the phone, sighing heavily. "Jerry," Cathy whispered, "who was that?"_

" _Someone who can help," Jeremy replied. He straightened, ignoring Cathy's pleading eyes as he slipped on his shoes and headed back up the stairs._

 _Rachel gasped as Jeremy burst into her room. "Daddy, please," she begged; Castiel was pained as he saw her desperate expression. "Please, I'm a good girl, Daddy! Don't take me there!"_

" _She knew," Castiel whispered. "She knew where she was headed." But how? And where was it? He watched as Rachel tried to scurry away from Jeremy, who seized her in his iron grip. It was difficult to witness, how the much bigger man roughly handled the lithe child. Castiel swallowed back his anger, attempting to remind himself it was a distant memory, something not to interfere with. Still, his hands balled into fists by his sides as he watched Rachel break away, only to be grabbed by the hair by Jeremy. The girl's screams pierced the air, Cathy's frantic voice from the first floor joining the cacophony of sounds._

 _Rachel put up a fight, which was all too familiar to see. It resulted in only angering Jeremy, though. Castiel shut his eyes briefly as Jeremy's weathered palm connected with Rachel's cheek. The slap stunned her, enough to stop her wriggling so he could get a tighter grip around her wrist. "Come on," Jeremy growled, impatient as she planted her feet, gripping her stuffed bear like a lifeline. He tugged, only partially successful in moving her. With a grumble, he picked her up and slung her carelessly over his shoulder. The bear she had been holding dropped to the ground in the process. Rachel's tiny hands balled into fists as she punched against Jeremy's back._

" _Please!" she screamed. "I'm not evil, I promise! Please, Daddy!"_

 _As Jeremy descended down the stairs with the child over his shoulder, Cathy's face paled. "Jeremy!" she snapped._

" _Quiet, woman," Jeremy snarled. "This needs to be handled once and for all."_

" _Please," Cathy humbly begged, clearly intimidated, "don't let them hurt her."_

 _Without another word, Jeremy snagged his keys and left the house with a slam of the screened door. Rachel's sobs intensified, then deafened as he loaded her into his station wagon, locking her into position by binding her hands around the door handle with bungee cords._

"So …" Rachel swallowed hard, the reality she couldn't remember making her ill. "William Calder is still alive, as far as we can tell, and still in Philadelphia."

Castiel nodded. "Still, nothing on the Mister Kaye person, though I hope we can find that information through William Calder."

"I'm guessing he was a Man Of Letters."

"I assume so." Castiel observed her stifled yawn, coupled with her vacant expression after. "We should find somewhere to stop and rest," he suggested. "Maybe … somewhere we can talk."

Rachel looked over at him. "About what?"

"Rachel, I just told you that your father was abusive," he explained softly, seeing her stiffen.

"Yeah, well … I don't remember it, so it doesn't matter."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't matter."

"Cas," Rachel said, her voice lowering, a bit shaky, "I get that you want to help. I do. And I appreciate that. But that man … that man was always evil. And I've known it all my life."

Before Castiel could answer, Rachel's phone buzzed loudly in her pocket. Reaching into it with one hand, she withdrew the phone, her heart stopping as she saw Sam's name on the ID. She hesitated, flicking her eyes between the road and her phone, unable to decide whether to answer. She jammed her finger against the decline button, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Castiel saw who it was on the ID, not that it would have been anyone else other than Sam with how she reacted. He rolled his lips together as he observed her tense silence, exhaling deeply. What he was doing behind Sam's back was something he wasn't sure Sam would ever forgive. It was risky, in more ways than one. If all went well with the restoration, Rachel would have incredible power, and likely demand to be on the front lines, even though she wouldn't be ready. And Sam could lose the identity of the woman he loved. There was no real "good" outcome. Yet, he stayed in the seat next to her, his desire to find and save Dean like a raging current in his heart. He had to try everything and anything he could—even if it was without Sam knowing.


	72. Chapter 72

Sam exhaled in disappointment as he held the phone to his ear, parked outside of a roadside motel. "Hey," he said as the voicemail tone beeped, "it's me. I, uh, I'm stopping for the night and wanted to give you a call. I know I said I'd call when I got there, but …" He paused, wetting his lips through the silence. "I really wanted to talk to you." Sam leaned back against the seat with a sigh. "A lot was said earlier, and … There's so much we need to talk about. You. Robbie. Me." He swallowed. "You being out there … It scares the shit out of me, baby girl. I don't … I don't doubt your ability at all. Hell, you're tougher than I am. But I … I just can't lose you, Rachel. I _can't_. I'd …" His voice broke, and he paused, clearing his throat. "Losing Dean has been hell. If I lost you too, I don't think …." He bit his bottom lip. "I don't think I could survive that. I know I wouldn't. Even just thinking about it makes me sick." Sam sighed into the phone. "I know what you're going to say. You want me to trust you, to not worry about it all. But sweetheart, I can't _not_ worry about you. You're … You're everything to me." Feeling the hot run of tears sliding across his cheeks, he cleared his throat. "Just, um … Just call me when you get this. I don't care what time it is." He drew in a deep breath. "I love you, Rachel. More than you'll ever know."

Sam hung up the phone with more anger than he realized he was suppressing, shoving it into his pocket. Was she busy? Or was she ignoring him? Taking the keys out of the ignition and grabbing his bag, Sam exited the Impala, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. He strode to the manager's office to check in, the weight of his duffel not nearly as heavy as his unresolved issues with Rachel. "I'd like a room for the night, please," he managed when he reached the counter.

The balding man behind it scratched at his neck. "Ninety-five."

Sam's brows wrinkled. "Ninety-five?" He looked around at the building. There was no way the dump was worth ninety-five dollars for a night.

"Yep," the man replied, holding Sam's gaze.

In truth, Sam was too tired to argue, but his stubborn side won out anyway. "Thanks, I'll pass."

"Next place is a hundred miles, boy," the manager warned.

Sam nodded a little. "Thanks." He felt the eyes of the manager following him as he left the office back into the cold night air.

Unlocking the Impala, Sam grumbled under his breath as he chucked the bag onto the passenger seat. He started the engine, backing out of the lot and moving back into the darkened stretch of highway. A hundred miles seemed like a bit of an exaggeration, but then again, he was squarely in the middle of no-man's land. It was possible. Still, he didn't have time to hustle idiots at bars, so cash was tight. And he had to drive all the way back yet.

He drove for a solid ten minutes in heated silence, stewing over the day. In that moment, he was dying to hold Rachel, but frustrated as all hell over their reality. It was inevitable—she would need to get involved. They needed all the power they could get, even if it meant putting his future wife on the line. The woman he loved. The woman he swore he'd protect.

Like a sudden burst of a storm, he veered the car onto the shoulder, slamming on the brakes and throwing the car into park. His palm repeatedly smacked with fury against the wheel. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled, seething. Every ounce of rage he had bottled up over the last two weeks exploded within, his sadness and fears spilling out. He punched the wheel, each hit harder than the next. Still, it didn't satisfy him. Michael had taken his brother, and the archangel now held power they weren't sure they could ever defeat. It was terrifying. Dean was everything to him, and no matter how hard he tried, how many sleepless nights he searched and prayed, he had nothing to go on for finding him.

Soon, his hands stilled, tears replacing the punches as he slumped back against the seat. He closed his eyes, remembering Robbie's distant look as he said goodbye. Robbie had begged to be involved, to help, to grow, to fight. Sam repeatedly rejected the ideas, which only made the boy sullen despite his efforts to show him he loved him. A pit rose in Sam's stomach, realization joining the cacophony of guilt. He was no better than his father, hiding Robbie away while he shouldered the quest alone. But how could he bring his son into such darkness? It seemed like the worst thing he could ever do to him. Yet, he saw Robbie's eyes-Dean's eyes-narrowing at him as he told him to stay behind. Instead of a cheap motel room, he bound his son to the bunker, chipping away at their bond with his insistence on keeping him safe. Was it right? Was it fair? The answer seemed impossible to find. But in that moment, he knew one thing-he was no different than John Winchester. No better of a father, like he had hoped to be. And he had to be better, even if it scared him.

Sam opened his eyes and took out his phone, looking at the time. It had been a half hour since he left Rachel a voicemail. Still, nothing. She was pissed, and understandably so. He hadn't been any better to her than his son. Maybe even worse, because she _was_ a hunter, yet he insisted on treating her like she wasn't. Scrolling through his contacts, Sam selected his mother's number, waiting as it rang with his elbow propped on the door, the phone to his left ear.

"Sam," Mary sighed a little, sounding somewhere between stressed and relieved.

"Hey, Mom. Everything okay?" Sam asked, staring out into the darkness in front of him through the Impala's windshield.

He heard the hesitation in her voice. "Yeah. We're fine. You're in Atlanta already?"

"No, I …" Sam swallowed. "I was hoping to talk to Robbie. Rachel isn't answering, which … I just figured it was easiest to call you. I'm gonna guess he's still up?"

"Yeah. He's been keeping busy with Bobby," Mary said. "Hang on."

Sam waited, wiping the tears from his cheeks he somehow missed before. Either that, or they were fresh. He wasn't sure anymore. "Dad?" he heard Robbie ask hesitantly.

"Robbie," Sam sighed, the boy's voice like a lifeline he clung to. "Hey, buddy."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Sam adjusted in his seat. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Am I … Am I in trouble?"

Robbie's question pained Sam's heart. "No, you're not. Listen, I want to talk more about this with you when I get back, but … I'm gonna need your help with more things, okay?"

Robbie didn't sound surprised. "Okay. I've been packing and dipping bullets for Bobby. He said he'll show me how to clean a gun next."

Sam shook his head, fighting the nausea his unspoken decision made. "That's … That's good. But that's not what I meant. I want you to help us on the team. Not just with bullets, but with lure, and with _small_ runs _eventually_. Cas and Bobby will supervise your training. We need to take it _really_ slow, but we'll teach you." The line went dead silent, which instantly made Sam nervous as he waited for Robbie's reaction. "Robbie?" he asked, tightening his grip around his phone.

"Yeah," Robbie said, his voice far softer and distant. "Like … really, Dad?"

Sam chuckled a little under his breath. "Yeah. Really." He cleared his throat. "Of course, I have to talk to Mom first, but I think she'll be okay with it. Like I said, we're gonna take it slow, alright?" He waited, hearing nothing. "Robbie?"

"Yeah," Robbie managed, his tone then making a 180 degree switch. "Dad, I …" The excitement the boy felt was nearly tangible. "Thanks, Dad!"

While the idea scared the daylights out of him, Sam knew he had to be different. John Winchester did the best he could, but he had to give Robbie the father he needed as a boy. "Sure, buddy. I miss you."

"Miss you too, Dad. I miss Uncle Dean."

Sam wet his throat. "Me too. … Where, uh, where's Mom?"

"Uh … She went out."

Sam's brow arched. "Out?"

"Uh-huh."

"Where?"

"She went out to get something."

Blowing out a breath, Sam nodded slowly. "Okay, uh … When she gets back, can you ask her to call me?"

"Sure."

"Alright, let me talk to Grandma. Love you. Get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Dad."

Sam waited, hearing the transfer of the phone. "Sam?" Mary asked.

"Hey … Where did Rachel go?"

"She went out to get a few things. She … needed to get out for a bit."

Something didn't sit right with Sam, though everything seemed in order. "Okay. I'll, uh, I'll call you from Atlanta."

"Okay. Love you, Sam."

"Love you, Mom."

Sam hung up the phone, feeling both exhausted and revved up. _She's on a supply run_ , he told himself. It wasn't exactly something he was a fan of, but he couldn't do anything about it. Exhaling, he started the car, merging back out onto the road and heading southeast. _She'll call when she's ready._

* * *

Despite her exhaustion, Rachel wasn't sure if the roadside motel Castiel selected was sanitary enough to stay in without risking her health. Her nose wrinkled as she kicked aside an empty condom wrapper that was near their room entrance. "At least they were safe-ish," she muttered. She flicked the lights on as she stepped in, taking in the gaudy decor. Dark teal and bright orange seemed to be the primary theme colors, each clashing like tasteless titans against the other after the first place prize. "If I get some kind of disease from this place, you'd better heal me," she warned, tossing her duffel on the bed with a sigh.

Castiel locked the door, sliding the chain into place. "It does leave much to be desired."

"Like essentially everything."

"You need to rest. The selection was slim."

Rachel jumped when she heard people shouting in the next room, a couple clearly bickering. "This place isn't exactly tranquil."

"Don't worry," Castiel said, offering her a small smile of assurance, "I'll put you to sleep."

"Thanks." Rachel took her phone out of her back pocket, pausing as she saw the voicemail notification from Sam. She pressed it, pacing away from Castiel as she listened.

" _Hey, it's me. I, uh, I'm stopping for the night and wanted to give you a call. I know I said I'd call when I got there, but … I really wanted to talk to you. A lot was said earlier, and … There's so much we need to talk about. You. Robbie. Me. You being out there … It scares the shit out of me, baby girl. I don't … I don't doubt your ability at all. Hell, you're tougher than I am. But I … I just can't lose you, Rachel. I can't. I'd … Losing Dean has been hell. If I lost you too, I don't think …. I don't think I could survive that. I know I wouldn't. Even just thinking about it makes me sick. I know what you're going to say. You want me to trust you, to not worry about it all. But sweetheart, I can't not worry about you. You're … You're everything to me. Just, um … Just call me when you get this. I don't care what time it is. I love you, Rachel. More than you'll ever know."_

Rachel swallowed hard as she hung up the phone, shutting her eyes. He wanted to talk. Did that mean he was going to pull back a little? Guilt crept up her throat. And here she was, halfway to Philadelphia to restore her grace behind his back. She glanced at the clock. _11:54pm._ Despite what he said, it was too late to call him. Sam rarely slept normally, let alone the last two weeks. He needed whatever bit of rest he could get. Besides, if he even got a whiff of her plan, there'd be no stopping him from intervening.

Tossing her phone onto the nightstand, Rachel sat on the bed, kicking off her boots. "I'm gonna pack it in, Cas," she murmured, looking to him. "Can you … Can you see what else you can find about my childhood? Related to my grace?"

Castiel hesitated. "The more digging I do, the more risk there is of permanent damage. Not to your physical self, but your memories. It's a tricky balance."

"But if you can find out more, then we could have better leads."

"I'll … I'll see what I can do."

Rachel smiled at him. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel tried to give a small smile in return. "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

 _After putting Rachel in a deep sleep, Castiel waited for a couple hours, making sure she was settled before he entered her mind, hesitant as he ventured through the corridors. An additional avenue had been created since he last entered her mind-angel radio. He knew the gentle, delicate ringing from anywhere. Passing by it, he looked to his destination, catching glimpses of areas that were previously vibrantly white. They were now tainted, though not permanently altered. It was a common thing to see—as more was known, more was cataloged, even the bad within the good. In reality, not many things were ever pure. The only time he had encountered purity was in a mother's love for her child._

 _Castiel came to the incessant humming that he knew carried the repressed memories. He approached with caution, drawing in a deep breath as he slowly melded through the gray aura into a room that looked like it belonged in the bunker. It was a research room of sorts, similar to their sick bay, but with far more equipment at the ready. Three men in suits with white overcoats stood with pensive looks as they watched the entry door swing open._

 _Readying himself, Castiel looked to the door, wincing when he hear young Rachel's piercing screams. Still in the same pajamas as from the memory before, the thin young girl was slung over Jeremy Lentz's shoulder like an object rather than a human being. It pained Castiel to watch Rachel's desperate struggle, her small hands balled into tight fists that beat on Jeremy's back. "Please!" she shuddered, growling when her plea went unanswered. "Daddy, please!"_

" _Bring her over here," one of the men instructed. He had a round face decorated with a thick brown mustache, his balding head far more sparsely covered._

 _Jeremy carried Rachel over to a stretcher type bed, laying her down on the mattress. The other two men descended upon her, hastily strapping her down with thick leather belts at the ankles, stomach, chest, and wrists. One fashioned a gag around her small mouth, narrowly safe from Rachel's attempt at biting his hand._

 _When she was secured more than necessary, the two men backed away, Jeremy following suit as he met the round man's eyes. "Are you … Are you Mister Kaye?" he asked._

" _No," the man replied, strapping on a pair of rubber gloves. "He's Mister Kaye."_

Before Castiel could see who was being referred to, he began to move backward, as if being drawn from the memories. Castiel fought to keep within the memory, feeling challenged by her power. "No, no, no," he muttered, sighing as he felt Rachel begin to move out of her REM sleep. He exited her memories, coming back to the seedy motel room. Watching her struggle in her sleep, Castiel gently woke her. "Rachel," he whispered.

Rachel shot up and aimed her gun at Castiel, shutting her eyes in relief when she saw him back away with his hands up. "Sorry," she murmured, lowering the gun back down.

"It's alright," Castiel assured. "You didn't sleep well."

Rachel shook her head. "I'm worried about Sam."

"You should call him."

"It's too late. I want him to sleep."

Seeing she wouldn't be easily convinced, Castiel sat next to her on the bed. "I doubt he'd care about the hour."

"I know he wouldn't. But I do. He needs rest."

Castiel nodded softly. "Perhaps … Perhaps, though, you should tell him your plans," he suggested. "The guilt could keep you from resting."

"No," Rachel replied, looking into the angel's eyes. "Cas, I _have_ to do this. If I tell Sam, he'd never make it to Atlanta. And he needs to." She wet her lips. "Did you find anything out?"

"Not much," Castiel admitted. "I think your mind is far stronger than when I entered it last. More than likely due to Robbie's birth and the residual grace. You pushed me out sooner than I expected."

"Fan-friggin-tastic," Rachel muttered.

"Would you like me to try again?"

Rachel pursed her lips, frustrated. "No. I guess we'll wait to see what William Calder has to say."


	73. Chapter 73

Several hours later, Rachel sighed as she leaned against the back of her seat, listening to the phone ring. Castiel was more than eager to pump gas so she could call Sam, but Sam wasn't answering, which made her more than unsettled. "Hey," she said when the tone finally beeped, "I, uh ... I got your message. Sorry, it's been a little nutty. I ..." Rachel shut her eyes, unable to help her tears. "I miss you. I'm worried about you. Just, um, call me when you get this. I love you."

Frustrated, she hung up, tossing the phone aside. Her message sounded like garbage, the words lodged in her throat and unable to come to the surface. There was too much to say, not enough time to say it, and none of it was something that should be discussed on the phone. She needed to see him, to feel his presence, to be able to touch him as she confessed her betrayal. Even then, she wasn't sure what she'd say, or how she would manage to say it. But she knew the "when" would be as soon as Sam got home. He deserved that much.

* * *

By the time Castiel and Rachel arrived in Philadelphia, it was late afternoon the following day. Rachel's stomach rumbled as they crawled their way through the thick city traffic, catching a faint whiff of cheesesteak as they drove past some carts. She was tired, and losing hope. Several hours had passed, but she hadn't heard back from Sam. "Watch," she sighed, "we get all the way here, and they blew the place up or something."

"No matter what happens, you'll have tried your best," Castiel reminded her.

"My best won't be good enough if I don't find my grace," Rachel argued. "Dean's counting on it."

Silence stretched between them for a few moments. "There," Castiel said after with a point. "Laylor Street. Number 9812B."

Rachel made the right-hand turn, slowing the car down the narrow side street until they came to a stop. Squeezing into a spot, Rachel shut off the car after parallel parking, sighing as she withdrew the keys. "So …" She pursed her lips, glancing at the weathered brick buildings that surrounded them. "We're just busting in, saying, 'Hey, my fiance is a Legacy, and I'm a graceless nephilim, so cough up the goods, or my Seraph will smite you'?"

"Or something like that," Castiel replied, giving her a small smirk. "Given that William Calder should be somewhere north of seventy-five, I doubt he will fight too much."

Before he could exit the car, Rachel took his forearm. "Cas," she said softly, "this … this might not go how we imagine it to."

"What do you mean?"

Rachel examined his blue eyes. "Things could end up going sideways," she replied gently. "And, if that happens, then … you go with the contingency plan."

Castiel's brow wrinkled. "We never discussed a contingency plan."

Rachel couldn't help the small chuckle at his confusion, though it hardly seemed like the topic to laugh about. "If I go rogue, there's only one choice to be made." She wet her lips. "And I need you to promise me you won't hesitate to do what's right." Eyes rounding, Castiel began to object. "Cas," Rachel repeated, a bit more firm. "I don't know what Barachiel was capable of. But she led an army, and that's not power to sneeze at. So you need to promise me. Because if I were to hurt anyone for becoming something less than human, I would never be able to live with myself. So, promise me. Promise you'll put a blade in me if it comes to that. For Robbie. For Sam."

Castiel was silent for a long moment. "I promise," he barely managed, pained.

With a small nod, Rachel drew in a deep breath and let go of his arm. She exited the car, checking her gun though she knew it was full. Shutting the car door, she pocketed the keys as she walked down the street toward the rickety railing that lined a small set of chipped concrete steps. Castiel stayed close behind her, watching the door with intensity as Rachel knocked on it. They waited, nothing happening. "Perhaps he isn't home," Castiel suggested.

Rachel glanced at the neighbor's doorway, noting the similar metal mailbox mounted to the wall contained mail, whereas William's didn't. "No, he's home." She knocked again, praying the old man would answer. "Mister Calder?" she asked, leaning a little against the door.

She jumped back when the door was opened with a rough tug, the security chain stopping it short. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, his gray eyes narrowing. His thin, silver hair was slightly askew, his faded button down shirt partially open at the collar, exposing part of his chest dotted with matching silver hair. He smelled awful, as if he hadn't bathed in several days, or as if his bath was in a vat of vodka.

Rachel resisted wrinkling her nose as William eyed her. "Mister Calder, my name is Rachel Lentz," she said, holding his gaze.

The old man's lips parted after a moment. He stepped back, a frantic expression creasing his wrinkled face as he slammed the door shut. "That went well," Rachel muttered.

Castiel stepped forward, using his power to open the door back up. "Mister Calder?" he asked, shielding Rachel as he stepped into the house. The stench only intensified; Rachel saw the source in more than a few empty liquor bottles scattered around the cramped space.

"Don't move," William warned as he whipped around a corner, holding a gun aimed at Castiel with shaky hands. "I'll shoot you, boy."

"I don't believe that will help you," Castiel replied. Before William could fire, he tossed the gun aside with his power. "We're here to talk."

William's jaw dropped; he was desperate, terrified. "Please!" he begged, his voice breaking. "Please don't hurt me!"

"Mister Calder," Rachel said gently, stepping around Castiel, "we're not here to hurt you. We just need to talk."

Swallowing hard, William slowly lowered his hands, though his body still held on to the quiver. "You-You're … You're … The nephilim," he whispered, looking at Rachel as if he saw a ghost.

"You remember," Rachel murmured in relief as Castiel shut the door.

William nodded. "Your father … He brought you to us. We never … We never saw a nephilim before."

Rachel took a step forward. "Why did Jeremy take me to you?"

"He … He was desperate to remove the demon in you. But he didn't know it wasn't a demon."

Castiel tilted his head a little. "You never told him," he concluded.

"We were told not to," William stammered. "Can you imagine what he would've done to her? Exploited her in front of his congregation? Polluted her power?" He scoffed. "No, he was better off thinking she was evil."

Rachel couldn't argue with him. It was a valid point. "Who is Mister Kaye?" she asked.

William swallowed, clearly anxious. "I-I don't know who you're talking about."

"You had contact with him," Castiel continued.

"I don't know who he is!"

"You're lying," Castiel growled, stepping closer.

"Please," William whispered desperately, his skin paling.

Rachel held her hand up, stopping Castiel from approaching. She looked to William, seeing the fear on his face. "It's okay," she said gently. She drew in a deep breath. "Mister Calder, we're here because there's a very urgent need to access my grace. We need the power to help stop the destruction of this earth."

William chuckled under his breath. "You make it sound as if there's another one."

"There is," Rachel said flatly. "More than one." She watched the man's lips part. "Please," she said, holding up her hand as she slowly withdrew the bunker key from her coat pocket with the other. She showed him it, wetting her lips. "Have you heard of the Winchesters?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Rachel," Castiel warned, unsure about revealing too much to the drunk they just met.

"This is the key to the bunker in Kansas," Rachel continued, ignoring him. She handed the key to William. "Take a look."

William took the key hesitantly, examining it with wide eyes. "Unbelievable."

"They are Legacies," Rachel continued. "And I …" She hesitated. "I'm the—"

"Rachel," Castiel growled, eyeing her. She looked to him. "It's not necessary."

"But—"

Castiel stepped closer to her, his tone leaving her no doubt about his concern. "No."

Rachel turned to William, scared they'd lose their best lead if she didn't explain the gravity of the situation. She gently took back the key from him. "We need your help, Mister Calder," she said softly. "Finding my grace and restoring it can help do many things to protect this planet." William looked between Rachel and Castiel, clearly nervous. "Please," Rachel whispered. "Tell me if my grace was stored in Capitilum Nine."

William hesitated. "They could kill me for betraying them."

"Please," Rachel begged, brow wrinkled.

After a long silence, William sighed. "I'll take you to it."

* * *

A stiffness lingered between the three as Rachel drove them to the inactive chapter house under William's directions. When they parked, Rachel got out of the driver's seat and looked up at the massive Catholic church they stood in front of. "Here?" she asked, confused.

"It was, once," William replied. "I'm afraid I don't know what is left. No chapter house keys have been seen for decades."

"So, how do we get in?"

Before William could answer, Castiel teleported the three into the basement of the church. "Shit, Cas," Rachel muttered, drawing in a deep breath. "Every time."

"Sorry," Castiel offered. "I figured it best to bypass anyone who might have questions."

She eyed him playfully. "You know, when I get my grace back, I'm going to teleport you by surprise. See how you like it."

"There," William interrupted, pointing down the darkened hall.

Rachel took out her flashlight, clicking it on. The beam of light sliced through the cold blackness, revealing a rounded cover on the floor at the far end of the hall. Methodically, she approached it, feeling her pulse quicken as she squatted down and examined it. A bitter chill ran through her despite her jacket as she traced over the dust-coated Men of Letters symbol, her nerves flaring as she fished out the key.

"Rachel," Castiel said softly, taking her arm before she could put it in the lock, "are you sure about this?"

She examined his eyes, amazed by their bright hue in the dim light. "Dean's worth it."

Before Castiel could object any further, Rachel put the key into the lock and twisted it, the cover popping open with a resounding groan that spread through the dank basement. She lifted the lid, struggling against the thick metal until Castiel took it from her, finishing the task. Shining her light in the newly exposed area, she saw a short ladder, the rest of the space dark and hidden.

"I can't make the climb," William admitted. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel murmured. "Wait here." With a deep breath, she put the key back in her pocket and the flashlight in her mouth, descending the ladder with careful steps.

Her boots hit the concrete floor at the drop at the bottom as Castiel quickly followed her down. Taking her flashlight in her hand, she inched forward, hearing Castiel land behind her. She was too preoccupied with finding a light to worry about whether he was close or not. Running her fingers along the wall, she paused as she felt a switch. Pushing it up, she swallowed hard as power shakily restored, lights flickering overhead as they warmed up. Her eyes widened as she saw a room that could fit right into the bunker—a gentleman's lounge of sorts, complete with dusty leather armchairs and abandoned cigar boxes.

Castiel stayed by her side, cautious as she ventured deeper into the space. They exited the seating area and passed a stairwell that they could only assume had been the proper former entrance.

Rachel stopped with suddenness, her eyes shutting and stomach twisting as vivid flashes of memories sunk back into her head, triggered by the space.

" _Please," young Rachel begged Jeremy as they stood outside of the chapter house door. "You don't understand! I can help. I can heal people! I just need to learn how!"_

" _You've got evil in you," Jeremy growled. "I won't heed the devil."_

 _Before she could object, he took her wrist, dragging her toward the thick door. His free thick hand fished into his pocket, producing a key that looked identical to the bunker's. Sliding it into the lock, the door opened. "Come on," Jeremy said, tugging Rachel forward._

 _Her screams of protest echoed off the barren walls of the chapter house, sealed in as the door shut behind her. Despite knowing the hopelessness of situation, Rachel kept fighting, wrestling against Jeremy's hold. They passed through the main corridor, taking a left and then a sharp right to a door marked 98._

 _Inside, she saw the three men in white lab coats, the round one eyeing her. "Bring her over here," he instructed, watching as Jeremy brought her to the stretcher. The other two men bound her, ignoring her attempts at escape._

" _Are you Mister Kaye?" Jeremy asked, eyes wide._

 _The rounded man shook his head as he strapped on a pair of gloves. "No. He is."_

 _Rachel turned to where the round man looked, her blood running cold as she met the eyes of a tall, broad man with salt and pepper hair. He was dressed in a three-piece navy suit despite the summer temperatures, his oxfords shined to perfection. A pocket square rested neatly in his jacket, matching the navy diamond print tie that was tight around his neck. His eyes looked familiar, though she knew she never saw him before. They nearly seemed to look through her, a small smile curling his lips above his structure jaw._

" _Hello," he said to Rachel in a rousing British baritone, his smile widening as he approached Rachel's side._

" _Please, Mister Kaye …" Jeremy swallowed hard as he watched. "Please help my daughter. She's sick."_

 _Mister Kaye nodded. "It's why I'm here, Jeremy," he assured, still looking down at Rachel._

" _The incantation didn't work, and the holy water—"_

 _Mister Kaye withdrew a needled device with a rounded lever that held an empty bottle, ready to catch blood or other fluids in it. "We'll rid her of what ails her."_

" _But … she's a demon!" Jeremy insisted. He was immediately pulled back by the two men in lab coats, one that Rachel now recognized was William Calder._

" _We need to extract the source for her particular affliction," Mister Kaye said flatly, examining Rachel as he held the grace extractor. He looked over his shoulder with a smile. "Don't worry. Your little angel will be just fine."_

Rachel's eyes flashed open as she gasped for a breath, her heart racing. She felt Castiel's hand on her shoulder. "Rachel!" he urged, wrinkling his brow as she looked up at him.

"Cas," she whispered with a shudder, "I saw … I think I know who Mister Kaye is."

"Who?"

Before she could answer, the world around her turned black, silence befalling her.

* * *

Rachel blinked her eyes open slowly, her throat feeling dry as she became aware of her surroundings. She was in a different part of the chapter house, in what appeared to be a medical bay. _Like from the memory_. She immediately tried to stand, but failed, her arms and legs bound to a chair. Eyes wide, she looked to her right, seeing Castiel slumped over, unconscious. "Cas!" she pleaded, her heart racing. "Cas, wake up!"

"It won't do you any good," a voice said from the opposite side of the room. Rachel looked toward it, seeing the same man from her memory step out of the shadows. He was wearing a three-piece suit, but it was dark gray, matching the prominent deep silver of his hair. Wrinkles etched around his eyes, eyes that were so hauntingly familiar that she couldn't suppress her shiver.

"Mister K. But you're Ketch, right?" she asked, trying to fiddle with her ropes as she engaged the older man.

The man smiled. "Henry Ketch, though I preferred Mister K as I worked," he said with a small nod.

"Looks like douchebaggery runs in the family."

"I take it you've met Arthur, then? Hmm?"

"That's a nice way of putting it."

Henry laughed, taking off his jacket and discarding it over a counter across from himself. "I've been looking for my son for quite some time." He began rolling up his sleeves. "He's a disappointment for aligning himself with hunters. Tell me, where is he nowadays?"

"Bite me," Rachel muttered.

"Surprising, really. Didn't think you'd have a soft spot for Arthur, given his nature."

"I'm just not fond of feeding into psychopaths."

Henry finished rolling the second sleeve. "Wouldn't you care to know how I found out about your arrival?"

"I don't particularly give a shit about you."

With a chuckle, Henry nodded. "You always were a mouthy one." Before she knew how, he seized her face with his hand, squeezing her jaw with unforgiving strength. "We've been tracking the Winchesters since the first integration of the British Men of Letters, naturally," he continued, she unable to move or speak. "And you as well, during your time with Alex Martinez and Vance Matthews. A fairly boring task, observing the usual carelessness and debauchery of American hunters. Until rumor had it the brothers were accompanied by a woman. So, I made a few calls until I produced your name. I was a bit surprised they'd taken you in, though I can't blame Sam for his weakness."

Rachel kept working on the binds, trying to find enough leverage between them while keeping an eye on Castiel out of her peripheral. "Of course," Henry continued, "you being with them didn't matter much, really. That is, until you were with child." He smirked as she gritted her teeth. "Word got around quickly of your special little boy, and I befriended a few enemies to keep tabs on you. You've managed to stay off the radar for quite a bit." He looked to her stomach. "Long enough to give birth, I see. Tell me, what did you name the boy?"

"Go to hell," Rachel snapped.

"Does Sam know you're out and about?" He waited through her silence. "He doesn't, does he? Interesting. Well, this time, he might've been right to keep you hidden. Let's just say that your road trip hasn't gone unnoticed, and Mister Calder needs money to feed his addiction." He leaned in, tightening his grasp on her face. "Sam Winchester's bastard son is worth quite a lot these days. So is his incubator. Soon, I'll have both."

With a shove, he released her, smiling. She eyed him, trying to swallow back her fear. "So, what's your plan? Kill me?"

"Now why would I do that?" Henry laughed. "You're far more valuable alive than dead. You have many uses."

"Well, that sucks, because I'm not doing shit for you."

Henry moved to Castiel, gripping him by the hair. The angel woke with a start, unable to use his powers in the angel cuffs he was secured with as Henry handled him. "What about if I take his grace, hmm?" He held up the extractor with a smirk. "Is your life worth all his power? Possibly his life?"

"Rachel," Castiel said gently, "let him take it." He saw her pained hesitance. "Let him," he repeated.

"No," Rachel whispered. "Cas, I …"

"I imagine you need all the grace possible, yes?" Henry continued. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have risked so much to come here for yours."

"Is mine here?" Rachel asked.

"Of course. Yours and a couple others." Henry let the needle hover near Castiel's throat. "We assumed it safe, until you and the Winchesters accessed the bunker. It sells quite well on the black market."

"Why would you sell angel grace?"

"Oh, darling—it's not marketed as grace. Those of us who took over Capitilum Nine sell it to pharmaceuticals, faith healers … those in the business of providing help. Just enough power so that people trust in what is offered to continually feed the money into our pockets."

"You're sick!"

"Yes, well, it's all business, my dear. Life isn't cheap. So, what shall it be? Let the angel die, or cooperate?"

"Rachel, listen to me," Castiel urged. "Don't do this."

Rachel swallowed hard, looking at Henry. "If I do what you want, you let him go. Unharmed. Grace in tact."

"No!" Castiel argued, struggling under Henry's hold.

Henry's eyes narrowed at her. "No tricks, my dear."

She shook her head, looking to Castiel. "None. Just … Just let him go."

With a nod, Henry released Castiel and set down the extractor. "Deal."

"Rachel," Castiel begged, "you can't allow this."

"Keep them safe," she whispered, holding his gaze. "Tell Sam …" She couldn't finish her sentence, words failing.

As Castiel readied to object, Henry moved to a cabinet and opened it, an angel banishing sigil marked on the back of the door. With a quick flick of his knife, he cut his palm and slapped it over the sigil. Light burst forth, the ringing sound drowning out Castiel's desperate pleas and attempts at escaping the angel cuffs binding him. Rachel watched in horror as the light consumed him, and Castiel disappeared. The cuffs dangled loosely on the back of the chair he had occupied.

A pit rose in Rachel's stomach. "Don't worry," Henry said with a laugh, "it's merely a banishing sigil. Only works on juiced up angels." He stride forward, wrapping his palm with a bandage. "So, tell me—what brings you in search of your grace? You know, besides the extraordinary power it holds?" Rachel clamped her molars together, remaining silent. "You assured me cooperation, Rachel," Henry reminded. "And I'm not finding you very cooperative at the moment."

"Fuck you," she growled.

Henry finished tucking the bandage, then snatched her face again. "Don't tempt me," he smirked. "So why do you need it, hmm?"

"I said, _fuck you_."

His fingers clamped down harder. "Perhaps I need to have Sam located to give you more incentive, yes?"

"Your goons would never be able to take him down."

"You've a lot of faith in him." Henry leaned in. "But given that you're here in secret, I would imagine it's not a two-way street."

Rachel eyed him, her jaw aching under his grasp. "Your little mind games are pretty desperate—you know that, right?"

With a smile, Henry looked her over. "Believe me, I'm not desperate, my dear. I must say, you've grown up quite nicely," he said, seeing her disdain.

"Funny. I was just thinking how pathetic you still are after all this time."

"Let her go," came a male voice behind them.

Ready to strike Rachel, Henry turned to it, looking down the barrel of a gun toward the source. The weapon cocked, its wielder taking a confident step forward into the light. Rachel's lips parted, more than shocked at who she saw.


	74. Chapter 74

Henry slowly released Rachel, straightening with a smile. "Well, isn't this a surprise," he said, eyeing his son, Arthur Ketch.

"Shouldn't be," Ketch replied. "Heard you were in town, and naturally I decided to follow you. And it's a good thing. Otherwise, you might've done something incredibly stupid."

"Put down the gun, Arthur."

"Let her go first."

"You'd shoot your father? Over a whore?"

Ketch smiled a little. "I hardly need incentive to shoot you, Father. Now, untie her."

With a narrowed look, Henry reached around and loosened Rachel's bindings, watching as she stood and moved to Ketch's side. "You're making a mistake, Arthur," he warned. "Siding with the Winchesters isn't wise."

"Perhaps," Ketch replied. "Though, I hardly see you as a viable alternative." He took a tiny glance at Rachel. "You alright?"

"Fine," she said softly. "Thanks."

"Good." He kept his focus on Henry. "Now, give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you. You know, for robbing me of my life by putting me in Kendricks, and for your general lack of humanity."

Henry lifted his chin as he examined Ketch. "You always were a disappointment, Arthur. You may have scored well, but you were never good enough to gain power, were you?"

"My successes certainly weren't assisted by you."

"You're pathetic. This persona of heroism isn't becoming on you."

"Don't mistake me for a hero," Ketch warned. "I just merely like you less than I do Sam Winchester."

Henry's next subtle move for his own gun was small enough that Rachel didn't catch it, but Ketch did. Rachel gasped as Ketch quickly aimed and fired the gun, hitting Henry squarely between the eyes. Henry's lifeless body hit the floor as Ketch looked over him. Ketch lowered his gun; Rachel couldn't tear her eyes away from the blood that gushed from Henry's head. "As I said," Ketch sighed, "hardly incentive."

"You shot him," Rachel murmured.

"Yes, well, he would have shot you, so, you're welcome." He tucked his gun away, looking to Rachel. "You need to get back to Kansas immediately. You've attracted quite a bit of attention."

Tearing her eyes from Henry, she looked to Ketch. "I'm not going anywhere without my grace."

She moved by him, ravaging through the medical bay. Boxes went flying, drawers thrown open. No stone was left unturned, no surface unexplored. Frustrated, she moved on to the other rooms of the small chapter house. She searched every single room top to bottom, coming back to the medical bay a while later when nothing resembling a vial of grace was found. "Dammit!" Rachel growled, slamming a cabinet shut. Her body shook with her anger, tears threatening her eyes.

Ketch watched in silence, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said gently.

Rachel clung to the edge of the counter she was next to. Her fingers tightened around it, her devastation rushing through her. "I came here to help Dean," she shouted, shutting her eyes. "And I can't do that now!" She had betrayed Sam's trust to help his brother, and she had nothing to show for it. Her anger exploded, her hand sweeping across the surface and knocking over everything on it. Glass shattered to the floor, her rage seemingly insatiable as she threw things against the concrete.

A sudden cool rush overcame her, a flow of iciness seeping into her. Her lips parted, barely able to comprehend the shift. With shakiness, she drew in a deep breath. Her eyes flashed open, a tingling sensation burning inside of her chest with growing power. "Rachel," Ketch murmured, seeming stunned as she turned to him.

"What?" she snapped.

"Your … Your eyes."

Confused, Rachel searched the work space for a reflective surface, pausing when she came on a metal jar. She held it up, looking at her reflection. Her normally brown eyes glowed blue, vibrant rings of color shining through. Whirling around, she gasped at Ketch. "Ketch," she stammered, "what … what is …" With a swallow, she paused, her head growing light.

Before she could fall, Ketch caught her, keeping her from the concrete. "I'll be damned," he murmured.

"The grace," Rachel managed, her breath choppy, "it … it wasn't in a vial."

"So I gathered," Ketch replied. "Easy," he urged, laying her down on the ground. She curled inward, her hands clenching into fists.

"Why does it hurt?" she asked, squeezing her eyes shut.

He watched her cringe, her growing pain evident. "I … I don't know. If it was your grace, it shouldn't." He paused. "Unless…"

"Unless what?!"

"Unless it wasn't all yours."

"What are you saying? I ate other grace?"

"And probably too much of it."

"I overdosed?"

Ketch nodded. "Seems so, at least from what I've read. I think you've inadvertently consumed all there was. And your vessel needs time to adjust."

"I can't …" Rachel screamed, curling against the pain. "I need Castiel!"

"Breathe," Ketch coached, glancing up at the sigil he assumed his father used to rid himself of the angel. It would likely be three hours or so until Castiel could return. "He'll be back soon." Soon wasn't good enough, though. She couldn't fight the pain that long. "Rachel," he said, standing with a sudden idea, "I'm going to sedate you."

"Ketch-"

"Believe me," Ketch interrupted, focused on rooting through the medical supplies until he found a bottle he was looking for, "if the process of adjustment is anything like I've read, you're going to want to sleep it off."

"It … It might not work."

Ketch grabbed a needle, drawing some of the sedative up into the syringe. "Well, it's better than doing nothing at all, isn't it?" Stooping down, he rolled Rachel from her side onto her back. Gently lifting the hem of her shirt, he inserted the needle into a fleshy part of her stomach, dispensing the contents. He withdrew it, lowering her shirt and setting the needle aside.

"Don't call Sam," she warned, gritting her teeth against the pain.

"Rachel-"

"Please. Just … Leave me here. Cas … will come back."

"Breathe," he instructed, watching as the medication slowly took affect. Rachel eventually stilled, her eyes lulling shut. "Sam's going to murder me," he muttered, scooping Rachel into his arms and carrying her into the lounge. He laid her down on a small tufted couch, sighing heavily as he rubbed between his brows. "Bloody hell."

* * *

Just over three hours later, Castiel appeared in the chapter house medical bay, angel blade in hand. Ready to attack, he stopped, seeing Henry's body laying on the group surrounded by a pool of blood. The ropes that bound Rachel were laying loose on the ground. He looked to the discarded needle nearby, seeing Rachel's gun that had been taken away. His pulse quickened as he took it and stowed it in his waistband. Someone else was with her.

Leaving the medical room, Castiel hesitantly approached the lounge, jaw dropping as he honed in on the thoughts he could hear. He entered the room, spotting Rachel laying on the couch, still knocked out. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, stalking toward Ketch

"Easy," Ketch said, standing and lifting his hands. "I merely sedated her."

"Why?!" Castiel demanded, his focus split between Ketch and Rachel.

"I believe she accidentally overdosed on grace. She was in agony."

Castiel glared at Ketch. "She what?!"

"You should be thankful I found her when I did, or else my father would've still had her."

"You were following us? You're supposed to be in London."

"And I was on my way. Only, I caught wind of my father's resurfacing. So, given his ... lack of ethics, I figured it wise to take a small diversion."

Gritting his teeth, Castiel lowered the angel blade and went to Rachel's side, checking her pulse. "How long has she been out?"

"About three hours."

"If she consumed too much, you realize she may not recover her humanity?" Castiel asked.

"Again," Ketch said, a bit irritated, "I had nothing to do with it."

"Who else knows?"

"No one." Ketch's brow arched. "She was very specific _not_ to notify Sam. I take it he's unaware of her being here?"

Tucking the angel blade away, Castiel sighed. He was panicking, trying not to show Ketch. In an ideal world, he would've been there for monitoring her consumption. There was no way to know how much grace she took in. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. As suspected, her vessel was overheated from the energies within, a dangerous result of the accident, one that could have serious consequences. "Thank you," he managed. "I need to get her back to the bunker."

"Look," Ketch said, "as far as I'm concerned, I was never here. The last thing we need is Sam Winchester's focus divided, not to mention I don't need to incur his wrath. Yes?" He brushed off his jacket, heading for the exit.

"You're leaving?" Castiel scoffed, watching him.

With a pause, Ketch looked back at him. "What would you have me do, join you so I can get my face beat in?" He glanced to Rachel, sighing. "She's strong. She'll pull through." Looking back to Castiel, he gave a small nod. "I'll be in touch."

Castiel watched as he slipped out of the room, a pit growing rapidly by the second. Consuming archangel grace as a nephilim was unpredictable enough, let alone other stores of graces. If they were incompatible, they could overheat her vessel to combustion. Castiel drew in a breath. She had been exposed to them for some time, yet was still in tact. She would be fine. Wouldn't she?

* * *

Castiel teleported Rachel back to the bunker, holding her lifeless body securely in his arms as he landed in the maps room. The titter around the room stopped immediately, the focus shifting to the angel with a gasp. "What happened?" one of the hunters asked with wide eyes, setting down the gun he was cleaning.

"Is she okay?" Maggie asked, lips parted.

"She …" Castiel swallowed, letting his response die as he tried to leave the room. He didn't know the answer. He kept hold of Rachel as questions from the concerned hunters piled on top of each other.

"Is she hurt?" one asked.

"Should we get the kit?" another added.

"I'll call Sam," another said.

" _No_!" Castiel growled, turning to face them. They were silent, visibly confused and scared. "No one calls Sam. I'll handle it."

As Castiel disappeared down the hall, Maggie looked to Jacob, a stocky hunter with cropped blonde hair. "Someone needs to tell Mary," she whispered.

"Tell me what?" Mary asked, Robbie following alongside her.

Maggie whirled around, swallowing. "Castiel is back. With Rachel. You, uh, should go see."

Mary's brow arched. "What happened?"

Jacob cleared his throat, hesitating as Robbie stared at him expectantly. "Rachel was pale, unconscious. She looked terrible."

Mary pressed her lips together, trying to avoid making the fear that coursed through her obvious to Robbie. "Stay here," she murmured to him, stroking his cheek. "Help Daniel and Jacob pack some bullets, please."

"Grandma—" Robbie began in protest.

"Stay," she repeated gently. "Let me see what's going on, okay?"

The boy nodded, watching as Mary quickly left toward the hall.

"Cas!" Mary called out behind Castiel, rushing up to him. Their depictions of Rachel were nothing short of frightening, and she realized very accurate. Mary's stomach dropped. "Cas … What happened?"

With a heavy sigh, Castiel continued down to Rachel and Sam's room, letting Mary open the door so he could bring Rachel to the bed. When he laid her down, he tightened his jaw. "Things went sideways," he murmured, using Rachel's terminology from their conversation in the car. "She consumed too much grace."

"What does that even mean?" Mary asked, perplexed.

"Grace consumption should be measured and balanced. Her own would've been sufficient, but she inadvertently consumed other angel grace as well." He looked over at her. "We just need to hope that her vessel is strong enough to contain that much power."

"What if it isn't?"

"... Then her vessel will combust."

"What the hell happened, Cas?!" Mary hissed in a hushed tone, brow furrowed.

"I was banished," Castiel grumbled. "We were set up."

"By who?"

Castiel rubbed his brow. "Henry Ketch."

Mary's eyes rounded. "Ketch? As in, Arthur Ketch's relative?"

"His father."

"Oh, God."

"Apparently, they are among those keeping tabs on her and Robbie. They also store grace to sell on the black market."

Mary looked down at Rachel. "How did she escape if you were banished?"

"Arthur Ketch." Castiel shut his eyes. "He shot his father, then sedated her to help her through the pain." He looked over at Mary, gaining her attention. "We've got three things to worry about right now—the first being, keeping Ketch's name out of any explanation to Sam."

Mary nodded. "The last thing he needs to think about is Ketch's involvement with her."

"Precisely. The next is, we need to monitor her temperature very carefully. If need be, we use the grace extractor to pull some out. It won't be fun for her, but it might be necessary."

"And the third?"

Castiel sighed heavily, pained as he looked back down at Rachel. "We pray that she's still Rachel when she wakes."


	75. Chapter 75

Mary checked her phone for the third time in five minutes, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited in the kitchen. It had been several hours since Castiel and Rachel returned, but she was still out cold. "What the hell kind of sedatives did he give her?" she asked quietly.

Castiel rubbed his temples, more than worried. "Strong ones, apparently."

Bobby folded his arms over his chest. "Given the length of time, I'd figure it was some kind of concentrated synthetic opioid or etorphine."

Jack walked in, sighing. "Robbie won't go to sleep, and won't talk," he said in defeat. "All I managed to get out of him is he's worried about Rachel."

"He hasn't contacted Sam, right?" Castiel asked.

"If he had," Mary said, "Sam would've called panicking by now." Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded to Jack. "I'll talk to him."

Mary left the kitchen, passing Sam and Rachel's room and heading to Robbie's, the next one down. She paused outside his door, shutting her eyes as she knocked. "Come in," the boy said on the other side.

She slowly opened the door, seeing Robbie laying on his back on his bed. He was dressed in pajamas, his arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Mary followed his sight line, seeing the gentle vortex of Matchbox cars floating above him. They spun quietly in the air, suspended by Robbie's power. "Robbie?" Mary asked. She exhaled, coming to sit on the edge of his bed. "You know your mom is tough, right?" Robbie shrugged noncommittally. "She'd want you to get some rest." Robbie kept his focus on the cars. "I know this is hard. But she will pull through."

The cars dropped to the mattress abruptly, yet Robbie remained still. "You don't know that," he concluded. "You're just saying that."

"You're right," Mary agreed, catching Robbie's subtle surprise. "I don't know it for sure. But I do know your mom is a fighter. And I have faith in her."

"This is all Dad's fault!" Robbie growled, sitting up with a scowl. The cars levitated and flew across the room into the wall with a smack, clattering to the ground. "If he would've let me fight sooner, then Mom wouldn't have needed her grace!"

The boy's fear and frustrations pained Mary. She remained patient. "Sweetie, your dad is trying his best," she reminded him softly. "Just like your mom is. And just like you are. That's all any of us can do."

Robbie sniffed, pressing his lips together. Mary didn't miss the glassiness of his eyes, or the tear that managed to escape. "What if she dies?" he asked. "I don't know if I can heal her."

Mary didn't have an answer. "We just have to have faith," she replied, rubbing Robbie's back and wiping the tear.

Robbie sighed, flopping back down onto the mattress. "Yeah. Sure."

Knowing she had exhausted all her options for comfort, Mary was silent for a moment. "Want me to stay?" she asked.

"It's okay," Robbie said, staring at the ceiling. "'Night, Grandma."

Slowly, Mary stood, her heart aching for the boy. He had lost his uncle, and now his mother was hanging in the balance. And she hated that there was seemingly nothing she could do on both fronts. Pressing a kiss on his forehead, she sighed. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

She left the room, clicking the door shut quietly with a shudder. How could she have ever let Rachel do what she did? Mary shook her head, walking back to the kitchen. Rachel didn't wait for anyone to "let" her do anything. She would've gone no matter what.

Her phone rang, slicing through the tension. She quickly pulled it out, swallowing hard when she saw Sam's name on the caller ID. "Hey," she said as convincingly as possible when she answered, making her way back to the kitchen.

Sam focused on the road as he drove, sighing. "Hey. I'm on my way home," he said.

Mary's eyes widened. She stopped in view of the others, who watched intently. "Already?"

"Yeah, it …" Sam exhaled. "I'll tell you more later. Promise." He wet his lips. "I've been playing phone tag with Rachel. Is she up?"

Mary gulped. "No, she's sleeping."

"Oh." She could clearly hear Sam's disappointment. "Alright, uh … I'm going to drive through as much as I can, so if it's eleven now, I should be home by supper tomorrow."

"Great," Mary replied, looking to Castiel. "We'll see you then."

"If, uh, you …" Sam stopped. "You know what? It's alright. I'll see her when I get home. Just let her know?"

"Sure."

"Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, Sam."

Mary hung up the phone, eyes wide as she looked to Castiel. "He's heading back," she murmured.

Bobby blew out a breath. "Oh, lord."

"What are we gonna do?"

Castiel ran a hand over his face, worried. "I don't know."

"What are we doing about what?" a voice asked behind them.

The group turned, jaws dropped when they saw Rachel standing in the entry. Her hair was rumpled, her clothes and face dirty from the chapter house. "Rachel," Castiel murmured, moving to her. He laid his hand across the back of her head. "You're still warm. How do you feel?"

"Achy," she admitted. "Cas, did you teleport us back?"

He nodded. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Things went sideways, you were banished, and that's the last I recall. How did you get us out?"

Castiel cleared his throat, glancing to the others. She didn't remember. "Long story," he decided. "How are you feeling, though?"

"Achy," she repeated, her eyes narrowing.

"What else?"

Her suspicion rose. "What do you mean?"

"Are you … yourself?"

"I'm fine."

Castiel hesitated. He could see and feel the powers radiating off of her. There was no way she could be "fine." "Do you feel normal?" he asked.

"I am _fine_ ," Rachel repeated, her tone shifting dramatically colder as she challenged Castiel, stepping toward him.

"Rachel—"

"Whoa, easy," Bobby murmured, approaching her with a raised hand.

"Back," she warned, eyes narrowed intently at him, studying his face. After a moment, she cocked her head to the side, and her eyes glowed brighter. "You," she grumbked, her lips pressing together into a thin line.

Before he could talk her down, Rachel sent Bobby flying backward into the rack of pots with a mere glance. His back collided with it, rattling them as he groaned and his the floor, tied to it under her power. Her eyes glowed vibrant blue as she watched, her breathing quickened. Mary rushed to check on him, steadying him as Robbie came into the room.

"Mom?" Robbie asked.

"Robbie!" Mary shouted, trying to intercept him.

Rachel glared at her, sending Mary flying backward to the wall and suspending her there until a tight, uncomfortable hold. "Rachel," Castiel said slowly, tensed as he watched Mary's struggle, "please … just … listen to me-"

Jack was next to be mercilessly bound by her power, her eyes brightening as she gritted her teeth. "You're trying to hurt me," she growled at Castiel, the only one she couldn't overpower.

"We aren't," Castiel assured.

" _Ol he tox!_ " she shouted.

Jack unsuccessfully attempted to free himself to stop Robbie as he approached his mother. Castiel groaned under the power Rachel focused on him as she looked down at Robbie. He fought it, only able to push through slowly. "Mom?" Robbie asked again, looking up at her. Rachel's body tightened as her eyes glowed. "Mom, are you in there?"

With a blink, Rachel's eyes returned to normal, her body relaxing as she looked down at Robbie. "Robbie," she breathed, wrapping him in a hug, missing how everyone was released with suddenness, tumbling to the ground. Rachel smoothed the boy's hair, looking up at the others in confusion as they slowly got up and watched nervously. "What's wrong?" she asked, fear quivering her voice. "What … What happened?"

Castiel exhaled deeply. "We need to talk."

* * *

Rachel smoothed her chaotic hair absentmindedly; she felt sicker than she knew possible as she listened to Castiel in the library recount what happened. She couldn't bear to look at any of them, even though no one held any grudges. Still, she felt awful, Bobby's, Mary's, and Jack's presences pushing her guilt into overdrive.

"So," Castiel concluded with a heavy sigh, "we think ..." He glanced to Bobby for a prolonged moment, jaw stiff as Bobby gave him a small, barely detectable nod of encouragement. The full truth would wait. "... We think you consumed more power than your vessel can properly handle."

"Then do whatever you need to," Rachel replied, clinging tighter to Robbie as he sat on her lap, his arms around her neck and his face buried in her shoulder. She looked to each of them. "I'm ..." she whispered, eyes watering. "I'm …"

"Sweetheart," Bobby assured with a gentle smile, "it's alright. You don't need to keep apologizing."

She sniffed, trying to let his assurance sink in, but mostly failing. "Please, Cas," she whispered, "just … just fix this." Pressing a kiss on Robbie's head, she stood, releasing the boy and setting him on the ground. "I don't know what triggers it, so you've got to take it out before I hurt someone again."

Castiel was clearly hesitant. "With time, you might be able to-"

"You promised," Rachel reminded him, her voice firm.

"Rachel, I did the extraction on Sam, and he nearly died."

"Cas, you _promised_ ," she repeated. "Contingency plan, remember?"

Gritting his teeth, Castiel stared hard at her. "I think we should wait for Sam."

" _No_ ," Rachel growled, eyeing him back. "You're going to extract the grace. That's how this is going to go. I can't … I can't hurt anyone again. Ever."

Castiel remained silent, clearly frustrated and not a fan of Rachel's insistence. Squatting down, Rachel ran her thumb over Robbie's cheek. "No matter what you hear, I need you to let Uncle Cas do what he needs to," she instructed. "I'll be fine. Okay?"

Robbie shook his head. "But he said-"

"I'll be fine," Rachel assured softly. "Stay with Grandma, okay? Don't worry. It'll be done before you know it."

"Okay," Robbie murmured with a nod, not fully convinced.

Straightening, Rachel drew in a deep breath, looking to Castiel. "Let's do this."

Castiel chased after Rachel as she strode with purpose to the medical bay. "Rachel, this is dangerous," he warned. "Your vessel might eventually adjust, so we can wait it out and see."

"No," she replied, turning to face him. "No, we will _not_ 'wait it out and see,' Cas, because if I 'wait it out and see,' I could kill someone." She narrowed her eyes. "You will extract as much grace as you need to, and you won't stop until it's done. Got it?"

Not waiting for an answer, Rachel entered the medical bay, stripping off Sam's flannel shirt she had borrowed and worn over a tank top, laying it on the table behind the stretcher. She situated herself on the bed as Castiel gently shut the door behind himself. Castiel looked her over, drawing in a deep breath as he opened up the cabinet and pulled out the grace extractor box. Silently, he withdrew the tool, turning to Rachel. "Can I change your mind at all?" he asked quietly.

"No, Cas," Rachel replied in a soft tone. "I have to do what needs to be done."

Coming to her side, Castiel positioned the needle at the side of Rachel's neck. With a heavy blink, he forced the tip in, pressing his lips together as he guided it deeper. He could see Rachel's stifled pain in the way she gritted her teeth and clenched the edge of the stretcher. "This is the part that will hurt," he murmured. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Rachel rasped, shutting her eyes in anticipation.

Rachel's scream pierced the air, even through the thick door; everyone in hearing distance stopped, looking toward the hall in pained silence. Robbie bolted up, but Mary snagged him before he could go. "Shh," she whispered, drawing him close and taking him away from the sound as far as she could. "She'll be okay." Robbie sniffled, and she squatted down to his level, brushing his thick hair from his eyes, dotting his tears away. "Your mom is amazing," she continued. "You are so much like her. Strong and brave."

Inside the medical bay, Castiel wrestled to extract grace. Her inherent grace would remain, but the foreign should've been easier to remove than it was. He paused, looking down at Rachel. Sweat beaded her brow, her skin paled. "Rachel—"

"Keep going," she ordered through clenched teeth.

With a deep breath, Castiel pushed the needle further and drew more out. Rachel was unable to help her scream of pain, her body quivering under the assault.

"It's holding too tightly to your vessel," Castiel argued.

"Then go deeper. Just _keep going_ ," Rachel barked.

Outside the medical bay, a murmur rose through the hunters. "Why don't we let Jack take some?" one offered.

"Too dangerous," Bobby replied. "It's controlling her, and we can't risk polluting Jack too."

"If it's controlling her," Maggie said, brow wrinkled, "then how is Castiel going to get it out?"

Mary tightened her hold around Robbie as Rachel's cries flooded the air. She looked to Bobby, who glanced to the hall. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Wait a minute," Mary said, eyeing Bobby. "No one said it was controlling her."

"That's exactly what it's doing," Bobby countered.

"And why's that?"

Bobby sighed, regret filling his eyes. "That juice she's got in her has to be from in our world. _Ol he tox_ means 'I serve him,' which is what Michael's soldiers would say before death, and what she said when she felt threatened."

Mary scoffed. "And you just decided it was appropriate to say something?"

Bobby ran his hand over his face. "Castiel knows," he admitted softly.

With anger, Mary narrowed her eyes. "This needs to be stopped."

"Mary—"

"If the grace is clinging to her, Castiel will _kill_ her."

"Or she will kill all of us!" Bobby countered. He then sighed, seeing Robbie's small scowl. "Look, I don't like it any more than anyone else. But she's right. If we don't get it out of her, she could be dangerous."

In the medical bay, Castiel continued to wrestle the grace out, the vile barely glowing with results. The needle was to the hilt, as deep as it could go. Blood leaked out of Rachel's nose as she lay on the stretcher, crying out in agony. Her eyes shut, her lips parting as she breathed shakily. "Keep … going …" she managed.

He only managed to draw a bit more before he switched gears. Gritting his teeth, Castiel pulled back the needle completely, removing it from Rachel's neck. He healed the wound it made, and the physical symptoms of her body. Rachel sat up, jaw dropped. "Cas, what the hell?!" she demanded.

"No," Castiel snapped, silencing her. "I won't, Rachel. You will _die._ "

"I—"

" _No._ You will control it. I won't extract any more."

Rachel watched as Castiel put the extractor away and snapped his fingers. The case disappeared. "No!" she shouted, standing. "Cas—"

"Nothing is worth losing you," Castiel interrupted. "I told Sam the same thing when he decided to run toward death. You fit right into the Winchester way." He ran his fingers over her face, the blood disappearing. "Robbie needs his mother. Sam needs his wife."

The word "wife" made Rachel's stomach knot. She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes. "I can't hurt people, Cas," she begged. "I can't hurt any of you."

"You won't," Castiel insisted gently, taking her shoulders. "Rachel, you're powerful and strong. I know that you will be alright."

"And if I'm not?" she countered, her tone darkened. "What if I'm not, Cas?"

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"We already have." Rachel stepped closer. "I could've killed all of you."

"But you didn't."

"That's hardly a bar to set!"

"It's done, Rachel," Castiel insisted, unmoved. "It's over."

She shook her head, tears threatening her eyes. "No, it's not. You just want to pretend it is, because it's easier than admitting that you can't pull the trigger." Her hands rolled into fists at her sides. "I fucked up," she whispered. "Big time. But _I_ am ready to deal with it. Because _that's_ what needs to be done. I'm not worth risking this bunker full of people, or even risking this world."

"Be angry all you'd like," Castiel said, holding her gaze, "but I won't take another drop from you."

"Then I'll find a way to cut it out," Rachel replied, snagging Sam's shirt.

Rubbing his brow, Castiel called out to her as she walked away. "Rachel, you didn't mess up." He saw her pause, her back to him. "You're very much human. That is a victory."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to him. "A victory?" she scoffed. "A victory is getting Dean back, which I _can't do_ if I can't control myself. This? _This_ _isn't_ a win."

The door slammed behind her, leaving Castiel alone in the medical bay. He sighed heavily, his head hanging. He didn't want to admit it, but she was right. He couldn't pull the trigger. He couldn't destroy Sam's dream, or his friend, his family member.

Chasing after her, Castiel caught her arm in the hall. "I will help you," he vowed, seeing how the assurance gave her a bit of visible comfort. "I will guide you through this. I promise you."

"So then tell me the full truth. Why did it make me on edge?" she asked. "The grace. Why did it make me paranoid?"

Breathing deeply, Castiel shifted his weight. "Because the grace in you is likely from the Apocalypse World," he admitted. "The influence is there in bits and pieces."

Horrified, Rachel stepped back. Her jaw slack, she stared at Castiel. "What?!"

"I removed some of it, but—"

"Cas," Rachel interrupted urgently, "you _have_ to take it _all_ out! Are you kidding me?"

"I can't, not without permanently damaging you!"

Rachel scoffed. "I don't care! Because if my dark side gets a whiff of Michael, how do you think _that's_ gonna go? Huh?"

"You will be fine."

Shaking her head, she looked up at Castiel. "You once told me you were Robbie's guardian angel. How can you stand there and let this happen?"

Castiel studied her face. "Because as Robbie's guardian angel, I can't _kill_ his mother."

Silence spread between them, thick and invasive. "Fine," Rachel murmured. "I guess I'll find my own way."

Turning on her heel, she left, storming down the hall to her room. Castiel winced as the door slammed moments later. With a heavy sigh, he continued toward the library.

Everyone locked their eyes on Castiel as he entered, each waiting with anticipation. "I was only able to take part of it out," he announced softly. "Going further would've been sure death for her vessel under that kind of stress."

"I'm going to see Mom," Robbie said; he flapped his wings, disappearing, leaving Mary worrying.

"Cas," she began, "that grace … If Michael—"

"Rachel is strong," Castiel interrupted.

"It doesn't matter how strong she is," Bobby countered. "What matters is, we can't take that chance."

"Well, we have to," Castiel growled, his tension surprising everyone. "We have to trust that she can control it. Because that boy _needs_ his mother. I won't choose to rip her from him. And I _won't_ kill Sam's future wife, the woman he _loves_." He looked to everyone. "Are we clear?" he asked gruffly. Everyone looked away or down, silence flowing through the room. "Good," he concluded. "I'm going to make a call."

With a flap of his wings, Castiel vanished, leaving everyone in the library stiff and tense. "Alright," Bobby said with a heavy sigh, "let's get some shut eye, people. Back at prep in the morning."


	76. Chapter 76

**Thanks for the reads! I'm always a fan of feedback, so be sure to leave some love (or constructive hate) before you go! :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E1 "Stranger In A Strange Land" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episode, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

Rachel took her time coming out into the main quarters the next morning, silently dreading the looks and questions that would go unasked from the others. There was no doubt everyone heard of her fight with Castiel, and they most definitely knew of the rogue grace inside of her. Still, she had to be better than she wanted to be. Sam would be home in the late afternoon, or around supper, and he needed to breathe for a minute before he learned of her misadventure in Philadelphia.

It was Friday, and Rachel nearly forgot it was her birthday-until she saw a handmade card in colorful marker resting on Sam's pillow. Picking it up, she looked it over, lips parting when she saw it was from Robbie. A small sketch on the inside showed a really tall figure, a medium one, and one not much shorter than it, each holding the other's hands. Sam must have told him it was her birthday-she didn't ever recall mentioning it in front of Robbie. She couldn't help the quiet tears she shed. Tucking the card in her nightstand drawer, she stood with an exhale. It was an incredibly sweet gesture. Still, she was hoping no one else knew about the day. There wasn't a lot to celebrate at the moment, anyway. True, she was engaged and she had Robbie, but Dean was still in the balance. Michael was still on their earth. A birthday was inconsequential.

Robbie had spent the night with Rachel, for which she was grateful. Holding him gave her a small sense of peace through the chaos. He was only a little boy, but he was strong, his grip almost a little too tight as he held her while he rested. His hair falling in his eyes and his protective spirit reminded Rachel of Sam so much. Yet, she saw a lot of herself in him—his angry bursts were most certainly from her side. Sam had always been more rational and calm up front. Unless she pushed his buttons, or someone tried to hurt his family. Then he was an insatiable maniac, but for good reason.

Still, when Rachel woke up alone, a lingering bit of dread took over. Squaring her shoulders in preparation, she drew in a deep breath, smoothing Sam's flannel she wore as she entered the kitchen. Mary smiled, turning from the coffee pot. "Morning," she said, as if nothing had happened.

"Morning," Rachel murmured, her guilt eating her alive.

"Want a cup?"

"Please, thanks." Rachel watched as Mary filled the cup, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. "So," she said as Mary turned, cup in hand, "is everybody … freaked out?"

Mary set the cup in front of her, taking a seat across from her. "No," she assured. It was the truth—they were more afraid of Sam's reaction when he finally found out. They depended on him perhaps a little too much as a leader, and the news would certainly jar him. "They don't think you're a monster, Rachel."

Rachel sipped her coffee. "That's good."

"They are a little worried regarding Sam, but I imagine you are too."

"Yeah," Rachel nodded. "I'd like to just give him a bit to relax before I dump it on him." She paused. "Is that a bad idea?"

"No," Mary replied. "But I wouldn't wait too long."

"Right. Just gotta find that elusive 'delicate balance.'"

Mary watched Rachel for a moment. "Robbie is so smart," she said with a sigh. There was an undeniable pride in her tone. Rachel met her eyes. "He got up early today to help Rick. He's a remarkable boy."

Rachel smiled. "He really is. He takes after his dad."

"Oh, and his mom," Mary corrected, matching her grin. "Believe me. My son couldn't have chosen better." Hearing that while wrestling with her guilt made Rachel's stomach knot. "He couldn't have," Mary repeated, seeing Rachel ready to object. "And I'm not just saying that. I _mean_ that."

With a small smile, Rachel stared down at her cup. "Thanks," she murmured. "I just … I have a hard time believing it."

"Because of this?"

"Because of literally everything."

"I know you don't feel like he made the right choice right now, but I can tell you that he did."

Rachel glanced up, meeting Mary's eyes. "Thanks," she said, releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Mary stood with a smile, looking down at Rachel. "Well, gotta go make sure these boys stay in line, since it's just me," she said.

"Where's Cas?"

"He went to Detroit to follow a lead."

"Oh."

Trying to push past the obvious awkwardness, Mary tilted her head to the door. "Better go. They'll eat Maggie alive, and Bobby's been a bit of a bear this morning. A little help?"

Rachel stood, failing to match her smile as she thought about her fight with Castiel. "Sure."

* * *

Late that afternoon, activity was bustling throughout the bunker. Supplies were being made and stockpiled while small teams scouted for the latest threat, gypsy vamps killing people along major highway stretches. Rachel kept busy, helping the production of bullets with Robbie. Her newfound powers seemed to speed things along, though she knew she hadn't yet mastered any of them. Still, she was able to melt down materials for bullets faster than the machines. It was a tiny victory, but she was comforted by it. At least her trip didn't just result in only an absolute mess.

Mary walked into the maps room with a sigh, wondering how Sam managed to keep his head while organizing the group. There were so many different personalities, so many demands. She finally fully understood why his facial hair had grown out so thick, and why he looked perpetually tired. "Hi," she said as one of the hunters named Rick gestured to the array of bullets on the table.

"Alright. You got silver. Devil's trap. Holy Oil." He grabbed a gun. "And these here, they're dipped in Dead Man's blood. Little Robbie's been working hard on those." Mary took the gun and loaded it. "Basically, you need some freak dead? I got you."

Maggie cringed across from them as she attended to a survivor's hunting wounds. "A rawhead did this?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Outside Phoenix. They're faster than they look." Maggie extracted a fang from the angry wound, eyeing it. "Meaner, too."

"So, so gross."

The door opened, a hearty announcement booming from another hunter. "Soup's on. Who's eating?"

He was met with a chorus of voices. "Right here," one called out.

"Yeah," another nodded.

"Yeah, right here. How about you guys?"

"I'll have soup."

Sam entered the bunker amidst the noise, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he made his way down the bunker stairs. Mary smiled at him, relieved to see him. "Sam."

Sam smiled back. "Hey, Mom."

They hugged, Sam feeling a small bit of warmth flowing through him. He wouldn't be alright until he saw Rachel and Robbie, though.

"How was Atlanta?" she asked.

"It was, uh ... It was a bust. The woman who claims she saw an 'angel'... was …" He snorted. "Let's just say I think she had one too many hits of the brown acid, you know?"

Mary examined him. "Sam, we're gonna find him. Ketch is working that thing in London. Castiel is in Detroit. I know it's been three weeks since Dean …" She paused. "Something will break. It has to."

Sam set his bag down, unconvinced. "Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that." He yawned, trying to hide his exhaustion.

"Have you slept? At all? Sam, you need to rest. Go and lay down."

"Mom –"

His focus shifted when he saw Robbie race up the stairs and pause in the doorway. "Dad!" Robbie squealed, running toward him.

Sam felt his eyes water instantly, latching on to him and lifting him up easily. "Hey, buddy," he smiled, wrapping him into a tight hug. He ruffled the boy's hair as he held him. "Missed you."

"Missed you too, Dad," Robbie murmured into his shoulder.

Sam pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Robbie's head, sighing into his hair. "Did you give Mom the card?"

"Uh-huh. She said it was the best one she ever got!"

"I bet it is. I hear you've been a big help," Sam said, pulling back a little as he looked his son in the eyes. He smiled. "Grandma said you're doing great."

"Little Man dipped bullets today," a hunter named Daniel said as he crossed through. "He's a quick study."

"He's the smartest," Mary said, lovingly combing Robbie's hair from his eyes.

"Sam?"

Sam whirled around, his heart aching as he saw Rachel standing in the entry. She was dressed in dark, tight jeans, boots, and his blue flannel over a white camisole, her hair billowing over her shoulders. The sight nearly made him groan aloud.

Still carrying Robbie, he crossed to her with purpose, meeting her halfway. His relief was nothing short of obvious, his left arm balancing his son as his right hand cupped her cheek. He drew her to himself, a rasp in his throat as he trapped her mouth in a needy, hungry kiss. Swallowing her whimper, his fingers slid into her hair and tightened, gently tipping her head back so he could deepen the contact. Rachel rested her hands on Sam's chest as she kissed him, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart, drawing much needed comfort from it. Her fingers tightened over the flannel of his shirt, and a hum of pleasure rumbled in his throat. For a moment, it was just them—just him, his future wife, and their son. Sam's mouth ravaged hers, suckling her bottom lip with satisfaction, staking his claim, healing his soul.

"Gross," Robbie said, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out.

Parting with a small gasp, Sam chuckled, keeping Rachel close. "Good to know he didn't grow anymore," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "Happy Birthday, baby girl. I got you something." He fished his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a small velvet pouch.

"Sam," Rachel chided, shaking her head, "that wasn't necessary."

"You're damn right it is," he corrected. "Open it."

Rachel opened the small pouch, revealing a dainty silver necklace. At the end was a circular charm with intertwined vines. "It's a circle of prosperity," Sam murmured as she traced over the intricate metalwork. "It's meant to remind you that you're not alone. That you'll always be connected to me." Sam set Robbie down carefully, taking the necklace from her. He managed to open the tiny clasp with a laugh, feeling more than clumsy as he fastened it around her neck. When he was finished, he swiped her cheek; Rachel didn't even realize she was crying. "Don't cry," Sam urged.

"It's beautiful, Sam," she whispered, searching his eyes. "Thank you."

Rachel didn't want Sam to ever let go, but the throat clearing behind them was a more than obvious signal. Keeping her and Robbie close to his sides, Sam turned and saw Rick holding a bowl of soup. "Chief," Rick acknowledged.

"Hey," Sam said, his fingers digging into Rachel's waist a little. He could tell there was more than just soup to the interruption.

"Good to have you back." Rick handed him the bowl, and Sam took it.

"Thanks," Sam murmured.

"Don't thank me yet. Word is we got some vamps heading east on I-90. Gypsy types. Pickin' off truckers mostly."

"Rachel!" a hunter named Julia called from the other room. "We could use your help with the melting, if you're not …" She paused, eyes widening as she saw Rachel and Sam turn and watch. "... busy." Julia cleared her throat. "Good to have you back," she acknowledged.

"Thanks," Sam murmured.

"Eat," Rachel urged Sam gently, patting his arm. "And rest, please." She parted from his side, gesturing to Robbie. "Come on, buddy. Let's go help."

Sam watched them walk away, his brows wrinkling as he caught Julia's lingering nervousness. Why was she acting weird?

"Last body got drained and dropped just outside La Crosse six hours ago," the hunter near Maggie added, gaining Sam's attention.

"Okay," he said, regrouping. "Um ... Alright. Get me teams of two. I want watch points every fifty miles. If you see something, say something." He looked to Maggie. "Maggie, can you hack the traffic cams on the freeway?"

She looked utterly confused. "Um ... no."

"Right," Sam chuckled. "Right. Of course. Sorry. Um, I got it. Thank you." He handed his soup off to Mary, looking to Vince, another hunter. "Uh, please—would you call in Sharon and her crew? We're gonna need all hands on deck here."

"Yes, sir," Vince replied, moving away.

"Thank you." Sam went to his laptop and sat. With a breath, he began typing, his eyes burning from his exhaustion as he focused on accessing the information from the cameras.

Mary approached his side as he concentrated on the screen. "Sam-"

"I'm good," he said, still focused on his work. Mary slid her hand over his, which made Sam look up at her. "I'm good," he reassured. "I am. Hey, how's Jack?"

"He's … He's been struggling," Mary admitted. "Not having his powers has made him kinda lost."

Sam nodded softly. "I can imagine." He blew out a breath. "I'll talk to him right after this."

"What about Rachel?"

"Jack needs me right now," he concluded. "Don't worry," he added, "I'm not avoiding her."

"Obviously," Mary teased. Sam felt his cheeks heat up. "I'm happy for you," she said, patting his hand and straightening. "She's a great girl."

With a soft smile, Sam looked up in the direction Rachel and Robbie disappeared. "She's the best." His mood shifted dramatically as a thought ran through his head. "What about … um …"

Mary could tell from his change what he was referring to. "Nothing yet."

"Right." Sam cleared his throat. "Let me know if that changes, 'kay?"

"Sure."

Sam refocused on the screen, sniffing in as he tried to clear the dark swarm of thoughts from his head. He had to focus. He couldn't afford losing time over the past. Even if that past embodied the most difficult part of his life.

* * *

A while later, Sam knocked on Jack's door. Opening it, he peeked in, seeing Jack sitting on his bed, hugging his knees, staring pensively at the wall. "Hey," he said softly.

Jack looked over at him slowly. "Hey."

"I, uh... chatted with Bobby." Sam sat on the bed. "He said you may have had a rough day today."

"It was fine," Jack shrugged off.

"Okay." Sam paused. "Jack, I know this must be so hard. Without your grace, without your powers, it's a lot, I'm sure. But you can get past this. I know you will. I have faith in you, Jack. And I believe in you. And -"

Mary walked into the opened doorway space, a regretful look on her face as she interrupted. "Hey. Sam, um... he's awake."

Sam looked to Jack, disappointed to have to stop the conversation. "I have to, uh -"

"I know," Jack interrupted.

"We'll talk later, alright?"

Jack gave a small nod; Sam patted the bed and stood slowly, shutting the door gently behind himself as he left with Mary.

Sam exhaled sharply as he and Mary headed towards room 7B, the archives where the dungeon was. His head and heart were simultaneously flooded with emotion. "Did he say anything?" he asked.

"I didn't talk to him," Mary admitted. "I can barely look at him."

He knew just how she felt. Still, he had to do it, whether he wanted to or not. "Thanks." He watched Mary leave for a moment before reaching for the doorknob, hesitating to twist it open.

"Sammy," Rachel said softly behind him. Sam turned, pained as he looked at her. He knew she was more than aware of what he was about to do. She came to stand in front of him, stroking his arm. "Let someone else," she whispered, gently moving his hair from his brow with her free hand.

Sam shook his head, his finger tracing the necklace that sat against her clavicle. "I have to," he insisted.

"Sam-"

"It'll be alright," he assured, running his fingers over her cheek as her hand lowered and rested on his chest, her other still holding on to his arm. Her warm skin under his fingertips was soothing; for a moment, it centered him, giving him strength. "I don't … I don't want you near here," he added, his voice breaking a little.

"I don't want to leave you alone," she argued.

"No," he said, resting his thumb over her parted lips. "No, sweetheart. Just … just no." He let his thumb linger over her mouth, swallowing as he felt the softness of it, wanting to lose himself in the taste of it. "I'll be okay," he said, drawing her close and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

Knowing she wouldn't change his mind, she nodded in surrender, rubbing his bicep before slipping down the hall in the same direction as Mary.

Sam turned back to the door, gripping the knob and slowly opening it. Light spliced through into the darkened room, casting eerie shadows across the simple medical cot that sat in the middle of the room over a large Devil's trap on the floor. A man sat with his back to the door. Sam drew in a shaky breath, staring at the man sitting on it for a long moment before flicking on the lights.

The man turned, revealing Nick's face, Lucifer's former vessel. "Oh, hey, Sam," he murmured.

"Hey ... Nick," Sam struggled. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his body rigid as he tried to understand the new reality-Nick wasn't Lucifer. He was just a man. He wasn't the evil being who had tormented him for years, who had put him through misery, who had threatened his family, including Rachel and Robbie. He was a human being, one who was struggling with the adjustment as well. "How'd you sleep?"

"Uh, yeah," Nick replied. "Um ... Okay. I didn't wake up screaming, so that's a plus."

"Yeah. So, no more nightmares?"

"They're getting better."

"Good." Sam nodded to Nick. "May I, uh - May I see it?"

Nick stood, unbuttoning his shirt as Sam moved to the bureau where peroxide and fresh gauze was waiting. Sam pieced a piece up with metal tweezers and soaked it, turning to Nick. He looked at the wound where Dean had stabbed Lucifer to kill him. "Oh, look at that. Looks like it's healing."

Nick scratched at it. "Yeah, it itches a lot. Doesn't really, uh -" Sam disinfected the wound, making him yelp in pain. "-hurt! Ahh!"

"Sorry," Sam murmured, finishing and pulling back as Nick blew on the wound, waving his hand over it to cool it off.

"Ow," Nick groaned as he recovered the wound. He backed up, sitting on the mattress as Sam looked down at him with a wrinkled brow, trying to see Nick as Nick, and not as Lucifer. "I don't get it," Nick sighed. "I don't understand how Lucifer could die and I could live."

"Yeah, um ... I think that maybe it's because the archangel blades were made to kill the archangel inside a-and not the person they, uh -"

"Possesses and uses to almost end the world twice?" Nick finished.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That."

Nick studied him. "It must be weird, you looking at me and seeing him."

A flood of memories flashed through Sam's mind's eye. "Yeah." He paused. "But ... I'm really glad it's you. I'm glad Lucifer is dead."

"Me, too."

"You still, uh - Y-You still remember -"

"Oh, I mean, just little bits and pieces here and there." Nick paused. "Some recent things, with … with your fiancee, uh …"

"Rachel," Sam said, jaw ticking as he tried to remain steady and calm.

"Right, Rachel," Nick murmured. "She's really … really nice. She, uh, helped me a couple times while you were gone."

Sam swallowed hard. He had specifically told Rachel not to go near Nick, but that never stopped her before. "That's, uh …" He cleared his throat. "Do you remember anything else?"

Nick shook his head. "Nothing - Nothing about your brother."

"Okay. And, uh, Michael? Did he tell Lucifer anything? Anything about his plan?"

"I mean, I remember him saying ... he wanted to do it right this time."

Sam left the archives after a few more awkward minutes with Nick, grateful when the door was closed between them. He ran his hand over his face, his mind swirling with emotions, each fighting for dominance. He settled on the idea of talking to Rachel, knowing the conversation was long overdue. It wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary.

His phone rang, interrupting his plan. He fished it out of his pocket, looking at the caller ID, then answering. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Sam," came an unfamiliar voice that instantly put Sam on edge.

"Who is this?"

In Motown BBQ Meats, the demon named Kipling smiled with satisfaction. "Oh. I'm the boy who's got your angel. And if you want to see him again, you know, alive, we should probably chat."

After gathering the information, Sam hung up, looking up at the ceiling with a heavy exhale. It was most definitely a trap—why else would a demon admit to being a demon? It was going to be messy, possibly deadly. Still, he had no choice—he had to get Castiel out.


	77. Chapter 77

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**

 **Thanks for the reads! I'm always a fan of feedback, so be sure to leave some love (or constructive hate) before you go! :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E1 "Stranger In A Strange Land" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episode, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

Heading to the maps room, Sam snagged his gear bag he had discarded earlier, sitting it on top of the table. Mary, Maggie, Rachel, Bobby, and Jack were quick to surround him, Rachel moving in next to him on his left. "Sam?" she asked, brow wrinkled.

Sam paused, wetting his lips. "Someone has Cas," he explained, looking down at her.

Rachel's eyes widened. "They're holding him hostage?"

Sam nodded, unzipping his bag. He began methodically checking each of his items, Bobby not too far behind on his own gear inspection after hearing the news.

Mary watched, more than concerned. "It's a trap," she said, looking for Sam's reaction.

"Yep," Sam replied, not stopping.

Bobby looked to Sam. "This guy's a …?"

"Demon."

Everyone's faces shifted; Rachel kept her eye on Sam, seeing the torment of his mind clearly in his body language.

"He just told you he was a demon?" Jack asked.

Sam looked to him. "Yeah. He seemed pretty proud of it, too."

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, they ain't a real humble bunch."

"So, what do we do?" Maggie asked.

Sam loaded his gun. "We get Cas back," he concluded. "Alright, grab holy water, Devil's Trap bullets, angel blades, because whatever we're walking into -"

"It's gonna suck," Bobby concluded.

"Exactly. Maggie, you're with Bobby. Mom, you're with me."

"So am I," Rachel said quietly.

It was far more than enough to get Sam's attention. Jaw ticking, he looked down at Rachel. "No," he murmured.

Rachel lifted her chin. " _Yes_ , Sam," she replied, hardening her gaze. "Robbie will stay back with Rick." Sam felt his pulse speed up, but kept his expression as unaffected as possible. "This _is_ what we've been playing phone tag about, isn't it?" she challenged. "Now's a pretty good time as any."

The air was thick with tense silence. Sam's fingers flexed over the material of his gear bag as he searched Rachel's eyes. No one dared to move or speak, too afraid to be the match to light Sam's ready fuse. To Rachel's surprise, he gave a soft nod, nostrils flared. She couldn't help but stare at him for a moment in shock, her lips gently parting. "I'll go get my gear," she said, her voice breaking a little.

Bobby gritted his teeth together, receiving a subtle warning look from Mary as Sam busied himself again. He knew Rachel hadn't said anything about her stint in Philadelphia, which only added to his growing reservations about her. "You sure about this?" he asked Sam, ignoring the signal.

Sam nodded. "Sure as I'll ever be about dragging my future wife into a den of demons."

Gaining confidence from Rachel's move, Jack looked to Sam. "I'm coming, too," he announced. "I know I'm not as strong as I used to be, but... I can help." He paused. "I have to."

Bobby winced. "Listen, kid -"

"Okay," Sam interrupted, surprising everyone. "Grab your gear."

With a bright smile, Jack left to get his supplies, leaving Bobby shaking his head. "Sam," he said, moving to where Rachel stood, "I mean - Jack's a worker, but he ain't ready for a full-on demon smackdown."

Sam looked to him. "So ... we keep an eye on him. He needs this, Bobby."

Not convinced, Bobby left the room. Sam caught Mary's small nod of approval before Rachel came back in, her bag slung over her shoulder. Next to her was Robbie, who wore a solemn look on his face.

Sam set down his weapon and turned to his son, drawing in a deep breath as he squatted to the boy's level. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "Did Mom tell you?" Robbie nodded. "Okay. We've gotta go help Uncle Cas. So I need you to help Rick run things, alright?"

"Okay," Robbie replied.

"I'd like you to find out whatever you can on gypsy vampires," he continued, pausing with a small smile at the corner of his mouth. "Your mom organized them all by subject when she was pregnant with you." His eyes flicked up to Rachel, who offered a small smile. "So you should be able to find it." Sam pulled Robbie in for a tight hug. "I love you," he whispered, kissing his head as he embraced him.

"Love you too, Dad."

"Be sure to listen to Rick, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Patting Robbie's back, Sam stood, ruffling the boy's hair. Rachel gave Robbie one last tight hug and kiss before Mary guided him back downstairs to Rick. Sam snagged his jacket that rested on the hook near the stairs to the entrance, and Rachel moved in next to him, setting down her gear to tug on her own jacket. "Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?" Sam asked quietly, focusing on the zipper of his coat.

"I'm sure," Rachel replied in kind. After she got her jacket on, she put her hand on his arm, stilling his movements. "Did you want me to ride with Bobby?"

"No," he said, snatching her hand and drawing her close with a heavy sigh. "I want you here. Home. Safe."

"You know I'm not staying behind."

His chin came to rest on the top of her head as he stroked her back. "I know." His lips found her hair, and he kissed her, breathing in her scent. "Please just stick to the plan," he begged.

Her hands tightened around his coat, drawing comfort from his embrace. "Yes, sir." She paused. "What _is_ the plan?" she asked.

He smirked against her. "I'm working on it."

* * *

Inside the Motown BBQ Meats eatery, Kipling took up a cup of coffee from the bar. Behind him, Castiel sat with a grimace, chained to a chair, bloody from his earlier skirmish with the plentiful group of demons.

Castiel knew as soon as Kipling hung up with Sam that Sam, and whoever else he'd bring, was doomed. Of course Sam wouldn't come alone, which drove him to his next worry—Rachel would be with him. There was no way she would hang back, especially now with her powers. Had she told Sam? Had there been a moment to? Castiel sighed. Rachel's powers would be useless. The entire establishment was warded, rendering any angelic energies useless. So she and Sam would both be at risk, and Robbie could lose both his mother and his father.

"And danke, sweetie," Kipling said to the barkeep, coming to sit next to Castiel. "Castiel, you sure I can't get you anything hot and black?"

"Coffee has no effect on me," Castiel replied.

"Hm. Me either." Kipling sipped his coffee. "You know, not anymore, but it's like saltwater taffy or infants - you know, I just like the taste."

"Why are you doing this?" Castiel asked with a growl.

"I'm just trying to be a good host like Mother would have wanted."

"No, w-" Castiel rattled his chains. "Why are you using me as bait?"

Kipling gave a little shrug. "I mean, it's kind of what you're for, isn't it? And I need something... from Sam Winchester."

Castiel smirked. "You really think that he's gonna make a deal with you?"

"Oh, he's dealt with worse," Kipling confidently replied. "Besides, he's got a lot more to lose these days, doesn't he?" Gritting his teeth, Castiel focused on the wall across from himself. "You see, recently, I had a revelation," Kipling continued. "You know, somebody asked me what it was that I wanted. And I realized that after 600 years as a demon walking the planet, destroying, drinking, defiling - you know, the Three D's - I didn't know. So, I sat back, and I gave it a good think, and I realized exactly what I wanted."

Castiel waited for a moment, annoyed by Kipling's dramatic pause. "And what is it?"

Kipling smiled. "Everything." He looked to Castiel. "And that's exactly what I'll get. Because Sam won't choose the world over his son, will he?"

* * *

Sam gripped the Impala's wheel, focusing on the darkness as he drove the Impala. Mary sat to his right in shotgun, and Rachel sat in the back. She had been quiet the entire trip, only talking as necessary to avoid making Sam regret bringing her. His irritation, fear, and anger was more than palpable, and she couldn't add to it with her bullheaded resistance. He deserved better.

Still, having said that, she wasn't a fan of Sam's plan at all. It left Sam walking into the heart of the den unarmed, alone. How could she support that? For fear of him cuffing her to the car, rendering her useless all together, she stayed silent. Her silence, though, didn't alleviate the tension.

Hours into the drive, Mary dared to address the elephant in the room as Sam gnawed nervously on his thumbnail. "Sam, it's gonna be fine," she assured.

Sam scoffed, rigid. "Stop saying that, please."

"What?"

"'It's gonna be fine,' that everything's gonna be fine, we're gonna find Dean, and -"

"We are," Mary insisted gently.

"You don't know that," Sam snapped. "Dean's gone, and we have no idea where he is or - or if he's even still alive. You know, Michael could have... burned him out or... worse, and…" He sighed, it not relieving any of the perpetual burden he carried.

Mary studied his profile empathetically. "I know. I know he's out there, scared and alone. I know. I know he might never come back. Never think I don't know that. But - I can't - I have to think about the good, Sam, because, if I don't, I will drown in the bad. For Dean's sake, I can't do that. We can't do that."

Nearly two hours later, Mary was sleeping, Rachel still more than awake in the back seat. "Sam?" she whispered, it sounding like a shout in the heavy silence. She saw his eyes flick to the rear view mirror, catching them for a moment. "Let me drive. Rest."

"I'm alright," he insisted.

"No, you're not. You've yawned six times in the last two minutes."

Sam couldn't help but let a smile creep onto the corner of his mouth. "Stalker."

Rachel chuckled under her breath. "Come on," she urged, leaning forward. Sam blinked heavily with a throaty hum of approval as her fingers ran through his hair from behind. "Pull over."

He cocked his brow. "Really? You want to 'pull over' with my mom in the car?"

She swatted his shoulder playfully. "Pull over, dufus," she repeated, grateful when he veered the car gently to the shoulder. Bobby's truck followed, coming to a stop behind them.

Sam put the car in park, reaching up and covering Rachel's hand on his shoulder. "You sure?"

"Out," she whispered.

Mary kept sleeping through the change, Sam clearly hesitating as Rachel moved toward the driver's seat. "Come on," she urged, taking his arm and guiding him to the back seat. Sam sat with a sigh, guilt evident on his face. "Get at least a couple hours."

"Doubt I can rest my head long enough," he admitted.

"You will," she assured with a swallow.

Sam drew her down for a kiss, Rachel feeling the vibration of his groan as he languidly tasted her. A few moments later, she parted from him, stroking his cheek. "Sleep," she said with a small smile. She trailed her fingers up to his forehead, pressing two fingers to it as she had seen Castiel so many times. Within an instant, Sam's body was slumped against the seat, a deep sleep overcoming him. "Awesome," she whispered with a grin, immediately thinking of Dean after.

Sobered, Rachel straightened and shut the door with a gentle push, drawing in a quivering breath. Sam needed the sleep, she reminded herself. He wouldn't remember it or know it was from her new powers. As she turned back to the driver's seat, she caught Bobby's eyes locked on her, watching intently. Bobby had been more than leery of her since she came back from Philadelphia. She understood his reservations, but it still burned to think he wasn't sure of who she was anymore. Swallowing hard, Rachel climbed into the driver's seat and pulled back onto the road.

* * *

Daylight was just beginning to break when Sam roused from his sleep. He sat up, stretching out a little as he took in his surroundings, and his watch. He had slept so soundly, and for five hours. Glancing to his right, he saw Mary was still asleep. "Sweetheart," he murmured to Rachel, tucking her hair behind her ear as she drove. "You look tired."

"How'd you sleep?" she asked softly.

"Like a log," Sam admitted with a chuckle. "Your turn."

"We're nearly there," Rachel argued.

"Pull over."

With a sigh, Rachel pulled into the shoulder, parking the car. She craned her neck as she got out of the driver's seat, tightening her jacket against the cool early morning fall air.

Much like she did, Sam guided her back to the backseat, kissing her before he finished the switch and sat behind the wheel. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Rest," he murmured.

With a nod, Rachel made herself as comfortable as possible, sleep quickly finding her.

No more than a half hour after they continued on, Mary woke. "You've been driving the whole time?" she asked, clearly worried.

Sam shook his head. "Just switched back with Rachel."

Mary glanced into the backseat, a smile spreading across her face as she looked at Rachel sleeping. "She's an amazing person, Sam," she noted, looking back at her son.

"Couldn't agree more," he replied with a soft smile.

"A real fighter."

"Stubborn as hell."

"And you aren't?"

Sam smirked. "I'm just …" He sighed. "I'm worried about her, about her being here."

"We'll all have her back."

"I know. I just feel like she's constantly trying to prove something to me. And I hate that she feels like she needs to."

There was a clear hesitation in Mary's tone. "You would do something for her to protect her or help her, even if it's something risky, right?"

"I have," Sam admitted. "Doesn't change my concern, though."

Mary sighed. "Believe me, she's stronger than we know."

With a wrinkled brow, Sam glanced at her. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I just want you to understand Rachel's strong desire to fight," Mary replied quickly. "She's not fighting because you don't want her to, or to prove something. She's fighting for you, for Dean, because she cares."

With a sniff, Sam focused on the highway. Something felt off. Then again, what would be off? Nothing had been clearly changed. Julia had made him question it with her awkwardness regarding Rachel, and now his mother did the same. Was there something he didn't know?

* * *

Sam parked the Impala in front of the meeting spot, Bobby stopping the truck next to it. Everyone got out, eyeing the underwhelming establishment. Sam moved to Mary, handing her the demon blade. "Here," he said softly, catching her surprise.

"The demon killing knife. Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. They'll search me. It's safer with you." He exhaled deeply, glancing at the others, his eyes resting a little longer on Rachel. "Alright. You know what to do."

Rachel watched Sam head to the bar entrance, pained. She could feel Bobby's hard gaze on her left; a small glance confirmed it. He didn't hide his reservations well, if he was even trying. "Okay, bait," Bobby said, looking to Jack and Maggie, "good luck."

As the two moved into their positions, Bobby and Mary took up guns loaded with demon killing bullets. Rachel reached for one, pausing as she saw Bobby move away with a huff. She shut her eyes, gritting her teeth. She couldn't afford anger distracting her right now. Not when so much was at stake.

"He hates me," Rachel concluded softly to Mary as Bobby paced away, checking his clips.

"He doesn't hate you," Mary insisted.

"He's acting like I'm diseased."

"He's …" Mary paused when she saw Rachel's arched brow. "He's worried."

"That I'm going to go dark-side again," Rachel muttered.

"It's his concern, yes."

"Good to know he's got faith in me."

"Rachel-"

"Whatever." With a grumble, Rachel checked her clip, stuffing another in her pocket as she strode toward Bobby, Mary following behind with a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, Sam headed into the bar, the bell on the door clinking as he opened the door and stepped in. He looked around cautiously, surveying the room. Several demons lingered on the outskirts of the room, locking on him as he approached.

Kipling turned from the large fire he was near, a smile spreading across his face. "Ladies and gentlemen, the great ... Sam Winchester."

A demon stood in front of Sam; Sam instinctively put his arms out, nostrils flaring as the demon patted him down in a search. The demon shoved him forward when he was finished, receiving a hard glare from Sam.

"I have heard so much about you," Kipling continued. "You are a damn legend, Sam - a-an icon. Th-The shoulders, the - the hair. Mm-mm! You are my Beyoncé. I hear you've settled down. Shame to lose you on the free market, though I hear she's a nice little piece herself."

Trying to ignore Kipling, Sam looked over at Castiel, moving around Kipling toward him. "Cas, you okay?"

"Of course he is," Kipling replied indignantly. "I don't damage the merchandise."

Castiel sighed. "I'm more embarrassed than I am hurt."

Sam turned back to Kipling, narrowing his eyes. "And you are?"

Kipling patted his chest, approaching Sam. "Kipling. Uh, 'Kip' for short." He offered Sam his hand, but Sam refused it, hardening his stare.

"Cool. Kip. I'm here like you asked, so -"

"Yeah, you're here, but not exactly as I asked. You see, I told you to come alone. But …"

A group of demons came in the side entrance, dragging with them Maggie and Jack. "Found them outside," one said. "They didn't even put up a fight."

Jack looked to Sam, pained. "I'm sorry, Sam." One of the demons holding him punched him in the stomach; Jack doubled over, coughing while Sam watched with gritted teeth.

"It's fine," Kipling continued. "You ... tried. But I'm gonna need a little bit more now, you know, not to ... eat them." He sat at the bar where he had rested his drink. "I-It's just, you know, late capitalism. You understand. So, Sam, let's make a deal."


	78. Chapter 78

**Thanks for the reads! I'm always a fan of feedback, so be sure to leave some love (or constructive hate) before you go! :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E1 "Stranger In A Strange Land" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episode, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

Sam scoffed. "You're looking to make a deal?"

Kipling shrugged. "I'm a demon. That's how we do."

Sam glanced back at Maggie and Jack, Kipling's stern taps on a stool next to him regaining his attention. "Sit." He waited; Sam didn't move. "Suit yourself, barbarian."

"What do you want?" Sam sneered.

"That is a very good question. What do I want? You know, I don't know if you're aware or not, Sam, but Hell's in a bit of a pickle, you know, with Crowley dead and Asmodeus Kentucky fried, which means -"

"I don't care."

A hint of a smile rested on Kipling's mouth. "Yes, you do. Or you will." There was a knowing glint in his eyes that made Sam's stomach twist. "You see, for the first time in a very long time, Hell is without a King." Kipling stopped. "Well, excuse me-without a King who is free to serve." He eyed Sam. "No chance you'll let Junior Winchester intern for the job, huh?" He laughed as Sam's expression grew ice cold. "You know, eventually, Sam, you won't be able to hide the prince, or his madre," he said softly. "Eventually, we'll take what's rightfully ours. And anything else of yours we want." Kipling clapped his hands together. "But, today's not that day. So, Hell is without a King. And that - that's just not right. So, I -"

Sam nodded, pursing his lips. "So, you volunteer," he concluded.

"Exactly."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want to work with you, Sam, not against you," Kipling explained, hands out.

"And is that why you took me hostage?" Castiel asked.

"It's exactly why you're still breathing," Kipling replied coolly. "It gives me a chance to show Sam and friends that I can hurt them, but choose not to." He looked to Sam. "You see, I want the Crowley Deal. I give you information, a spot of help every now and again, and in return, you choose to turn a blind eye to the crossroads deals, the demon-on-demon violence, et cetera."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "We never gave Crowley that deal."

"How exciting. Then I would be breaking new ground."

Sam gave him a nod, a cocky look on his face. "Alright. You got some good lines, I'll give you that much, but you're no Crowley. I know that. And so do they."

Kipling gave Sam an icy glare before he faked being struck. "Ouch!" He laughed. "Owie!" He stood, pacing away. "I know that I'm not that ponce-y son of a bitch." Looking back at Sam, he set his jaw. "You see, in life, I rode with Genghis Khan, and I burned half the world. So, please, do you think that I like prancing around like this?" He approached Sam menacingly, Sam unable to avoid tensing in reaction as Kipling pressed his fingers on his chest. "Please. If I had it my way, I would eat your heart." He smiled. "Or maybe, I'd eat Rachel's heart in front of you. Let you watch and see what I'm capable of." Sam's jaw ticked as he stared down at Kipling, his fingers flexing by his sides as he focused on remaining calm. "But a King has an image to maintain. And I'm not afraid of you. But, they are." Giving the other demons a glance, Kipling refocused on Sam. "So, take the deal, Sam, before I stop trying to be Crowley and I show you who I really am, using your little family as audience volunteers." He moved to the bar, a showy smile on his face as he held out his arms. "So, what do you say, darling?"

Sam was silent for a moment, flicking his gaze to Jack and Maggie before shifting it back to Kipling. "No," he answered firmly.

Kipling was surprised as he approached Sam. "A-Are you sure, because I know things - all sorts of things."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "So do I."

"Like?"

The front door busted open, Mary, Bobby, and Rachel spraying demon killing bullets into the bar. One struck the fire alarm, adding to the sudden chaos as everyone took cover. Bobby aimed his automatic weapon, striking some of the demons while Rachel and Mary used handguns. Mary managed to get an opening, calling out to Sam to get his attention. "Sam!" She tossed the demon blade to him; Sam caught it, only briefly catching a glimpse of Rachel taking out a demon before he whirled around and came face to face with Kipling.

"How smart," Kipling said to Sam, adding in a call over his shoulder, "Kill the others, but save Sam's little slice for me."

Sam started for Kipling, but was tossed backward by Kipling's power. He crashed into a table, his back breaking it as he fell to the ground with a groan.

Bobby's demon he couldn't seem to peg overtook him, discarding his weapon as he kicked him to the ground. The demon mercilessly beat on his face with a snide grin, another soon joining him.

Across from him, Mary wrestled with a demon, breaking a bottle over his head and slamming his face into the bar top before stabbing him and killing him.

Rachel dropped one demon as another approached. But she was out of bullets. With a deep breath, she focused on her powers, lips parting when she realized they weren't working. "Interesting," the demon murmured, seeing her snag her knife from her back pocket. "Not sure if everyone downstairs knows you've got mojo. But it doesn't matter. Wardings, darling." The shaved head demon was cocky as he approached her, Rachel remaining focused on the defensive. She dodged his attack, but he managed to snag her and swing a right hook into her jaw, knocking her to the ground with the force. Her knife fell to the ground within plausible reach, but the demon straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat, halting her from trying to retrieve it as she tried to press against him. "Shhh," he said with a smile, tightening just enough to make her weakened. "You heard Kip. He wants you for last."

Jack and Maggie crouched low behind a bar. Jack swallowed hard, looking to Maggie. "Hey. Stay low," he said softly, leaving her to gain the attention of the demons railing on Bobby. "Hey!" Jack shouted at them. "Get away from him!"

Bobby watched from the ground, his sight partially obscured by blood. "Aw, balls," he muttered as he saw the demons approach Jack with grins. Despite Jack's ready stand, a demon knocked him to the ground with a hard punch.

Mary glanced over, seeing Rachel struggling under the large demon as he choked her. She slammed her angel blade into his back, watching him light up, then fall off of Rachel, who gasped for air with coughs. "Thanks," Rachel managed, snagging her blade and standing on shaky feet, gripping Mary's hand for stability.

With a nod, Mary dove for Maggie, giving her angel blade to her as the fights continued around them. "Take this. You know how to use it?"

Maggie looked at it. "Uh, stab them with the pointy end?"

"Pretty much. Okay."

"Okay."

As Mary stood, a female demon leaped out and latched onto her, wrestling Mary around and pinning her down. The demon's hands wrapped around Mary's throat, and she grinned as she saw Mary struggle to shove her off.

Rachel bolted for Mary, intercepted by a demon, who smiled as he kicked her to the ground. While ducking another hit, she saw Maggie stab the demon on Mary, freeing Mary. Still, the demon caught Rachel, yanking her to stand and throwing her against the wall, her knife dropping from her hand with the impact. He used his body weight and strength to pin her to it, yanking her head back by her hair. The demon laughed as she squirmed. "Stay still," he warned.

"Bite me," Rachel growled.

"Oh, I would. But Kip wants you."

"So you're like his bitch, then?"

The demon chuckled. "Trying to get me riled up? To get an opening?" He clucked his tongue. "Naughty girl."

"Must suck to be so useless that you're below that douchebag."

He bent her head back to a painful angle, and she couldn't help her whimper. "Kip said alive," he whispered, twisting her arm and shoulder. She groaned, the pain shooting through her body. "He didn't say undamaged."

Across from them, Sam wrestled violently with Kipling, eventually pinned to a table as Kipling landed hard blows to his face. "Think you can keep them safe all by yourself?" Kipling asked with a laugh. "Should've taken the deal, Sam. Could've protected your little family." Sam tried to recover, but each punch made it harder to. "Now I'll just do whatever I want to them." Sam watched in a bit of a haze, limp on the table as Kipling held up the knife, examining it with a smirk. "Cool," Kipling murmured. Using Kipling's moment of distraction, Sam took the knife and twisted it around, shoving it deep into Kipling's gut. He watched him light up, shoving him away when he died.

"Enough!" Sam snarled after standing. He saw how Jack was laid out on the floor with Bobby, while Maggie and Mary were held in a choke hold, and Rachel being held by her hair as a demon pinned her to the wall. "There will be no new King of Hell! Not today. Not ever." He saw the panic in the demons as they released everyone. "And if anybody wants the job, you can come through me. Understood?" He huffed, still trying to catch his breath. "So, what's it gonna be?"

After a moment of contemplation, the demons still alive smoked out of their vessels, the bodies dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Mary, Maggie, and Rachel were freed, each trying to catch their breath as they looked to Sam. "That's what I thought," Sam said, tensed as he looked to the others, tasting the blood on his lip as he locked eyes with Rachel.

* * *

On their way back to the bunker, they pulled over just outside of town; Sam dug out his medical kit and started cleaning people up. Rachel watched as he cleaned Castiel, catching the angel's eyes as he looked up at her. From what she could see in his silent stare, it looked like he was ready to bury the hatchet. She was more than ready to, scared she might never be able to have another conversation with him again that didn't involve her yelling at him. He said he would help her. She had to trust that.

Mary insisted on taking care of herself, and Bobby merely splashed some water on his face, refusing help before he tended to Jack. Sam looked to Rachel, seeing the gash on her brow. "Come here," he urged quietly.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Sit."

With a sigh, Rachel sat in front of him, watching as he focused on her injury. "You kicked ass today," he murmured as he dabbed her wound with peroxide.

She winced, biting back the sting. "More like I got my ass handed to me," she corrected.

"We all did. Doesn't mean you didn't do some serious damage."

"Thanks." Rachel swallowed, watching Sam's face as he applied the butterfly bandage on her forehead. "I'm sorry he didn't help us get any further," she murmured.

"Wouldn't be sure if I could trust him anyway." Rachel nodded, but with hesitation; he felt it. "What is it?" he asked.

"I heard what he said to you," she admitted. "About Robbie."

Sam's hand lowered from her face, a sigh escaping his lips as he set down the used cotton ball. "With everything going on, I … I haven't even asked Robbie what he's heard from them lately."

"Me either." Rachel took Sam's hand. "Do you think … they'll try to turn him?"

"I have no doubt they will," Sam said, lacing his fingers through hers. "But Robbie's smart."

"So are you. But it doesn't mean they can't torment him, just like they did to you."

Sam focused on Rachel. "They won't win," he told her, though it seemed like he was trying to convince himself as well. "I won't let them. I won't let anything happen to either of you."

Realization burned through Rachel—his worries were possibly unnecessary. She might be far stronger than she thought. Was she bulletproof, like Jack was with his powers? Could she survive an angel blade? Guilt grew within as she remembered Sam's blissful ignorance to the results of her failed attempt at helping. Those results were the same reason Bobby looked at her like a criminal now instead of a friend. Flowing through her veins was the essence of cold-blooded killers from another dimension, the grace of those who had slain people Bobby cared about. Though it was dormant for the time being, it could take over at any time, it seemed. She was stronger, but far more dangerous to everyone. A wild card that shouldn't be played. A loose cannon. A liability, maybe even to the man she loved, and her own son.

Rachel withdrew from Sam's hold, moving away and pacing toward the field they were parked next to. Sam watched with a wrinkled brow, unsure whether to ask her what was wrong, or give her the space she clearly wanted. The burden he saw in her body language frightened him, only adding to his confusion about Rachel that was born from Julia and fed by Mary.

Mary hesitantly approached, seeing Sam's visible confusion and Rachel's noticeable difference. "Everything okay?" she tested, wondering if the news had been finally spilled.

"I …" Sam swallowed hard. "I don't know," he admitted with a soft laugh through his nose. "I, uh, can't seem to get a read on Rachel lately." He looked to Mary. "Has she … said anything to you?"

"Not really," Mary replied, the lie stinging. "Maybe she just needs some space."

"Space? I mean … I've been more than distant these last three weeks." Sam paused, exhaling in realization, swiping at his face. "Ah. This is probably because of me."

"Well, I—"

"It has to be," Sam sighed. "I get it. I do. It's just been hard to … to have a family while looking for my brother."

Mary shifted her weight, wrestling with what to say. "I don't think she holds a grudge," she finally said. "I mean, I think she wants to find Dean just as much."

"Then what could it be?"

"I …" Mary let her response die, hoping Sam would move on. Instead, he stood, moving toward Rachel when he was intercepted by Bobby, who glanced over at Rachel for a prolonged moment.

"We're good to go," he said, drawing in a deep breath as he looked back at Sam.

"Right," Sam murmured with a sniff. He couldn't figure out what, exactly, he saw in Bobby's eyes, but he could feel a coolness that was out of character. It was unsettling, nearly lethal to his collection of worries. He would get to the bottom of it. Regardless of what Mary said, there was something to figure out. He knew that much. Clearing his throat, he gave Bobby a nod. "Good. Uh, let's get back on the road then."


	79. Chapter 79

**Thanks for the reads! I'm always a fan of feedback, so be sure to leave some love (or constructive hate) before you go! :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E1 "Stranger In A Strange Land" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episode, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

 ** _This chapter contains M-rated content._**

* * *

It was late when the caravan arrived back at the bunker, everyone taking shifts using the showers. Robbie was sleeping by the time they got back, so Rachel and Sam peeked in on him to give him a reassuring hug and kiss goodnight before they tucked him back in and went back to their room.

Sam stripped off his button down he had worn to the fight, chucking it in the laundry basket. With a sigh, he snagged a new blue shirt from his bureau, putting it on over top of his tee shirt.

"You're staying dressed?" Rachel asked, brow wrinkled.

Sam nodded. "For a bit. I need to follow up with Ketch. Should be early morning there."

"Okay." Rachel slipped out of the room, clutching her sleep pants and shirt to her chest as she made her way to the showers. Her guilt grew as she realized that in the first quiet moment she had with Sam, she ran away instead of confessing. They had just dealt with Kipling—it wasn't the right time. She knew Sam wanted to talk more after the fight before Bobby intercepted him. Bobby's interruption seemed to rub Rachel wrong, as if he purposely made it harder for her. The idea of his outright deception, though, seemed a bit far fetched. Yet with how he had been to her, it wasn't entirely unfounded.

As Rachel massaged her shampoo into her hair under the hot shower spray, a pit grew in her stomach. With each moment that passed that she failed to tell Sam about her grace, it would only make it that much more difficult to come clean later. How would he react? Would he resent her? Would he feel betrayed? She had no idea, and despite her guilt, she was no closer to finding out the answer. She couldn't tell him. Not tonight. They had barely seen each other for over three weeks. All she wanted was to curl up next to him and forget, if only for a little while.

In the library, Sam sat with a sigh, drawing the cold bottle of beer closer to himself as he fished out his phone. As his fingers traced across the condensation on the glass, he stared down at Ketch's number with gritted teeth. If Dean ever had any doubt as to whether or not Sam cared for him, Sam's regular contact with Ketch since nearly beating him to a pulp over Rachel was more proof than necessary. Just the idea of him made Sam nauseous. His insinuations about Rachel, not to mention his implied intimate contact with her, still drove Sam wild, even over a month later. However, they needed all the leads they could get, including one specific to Ketch's contact list.

With a swallow, Sam dialed the number, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hey," he said, clearing his throat when Ketch answered. "Any updates?" He paused, staring at the shelves across from him. "Uh-huh." Sighing, Sam lifted the bottle and pressed the cold glass to the throbbing knot on his forehead, wincing at the contact. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I - No, I don't care. I - Just keep looking. Yeah. Thanks."

Castiel came into the library, still wearing his soiled suit and shirt. His injuries looked only marginally better; Castiel refused Robbie's offer to heal him, wanting Robbie to conserve his power. "Who was that?" Castiel asked.

Sam chuckled at the irony. "Uh, Ketch. He's in London searching for the Newton-Dee Hyperbolic Pulse Generator."

Castiel sat down across from him. "The what?"

"It's the ... It's the magic egg that kicked Lucifer out of the President. I thought we could use it on Michael, but ... Ketch can't find it." Sam's tone shifted to sarcastic. "So, that's another dead end, which is just awesome."

Castiel focused on Sam. "Sam, are you alright?" he asked gently.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I've been better. I've been worse. You?"

"I'm - I'm just sorry. I should never have gone to those demons."

"Cas, I - No, I-I-I don't blame you. I …" Sam sighed. "Honestly, I-I wish I'd have thought of it first. If it meant finding Dean, I-I'd work with …" He paused. "I'd do anything." Slowly standing, he gave Castiel a small smile, though the weight of his thoughts showed in it. "I'd better pack it in. Goodnight, Cas."

"Sleep well, Sam."

With a deep breath, Sam went to his room, hearing Mary and Bobby chatting softly as he passed the kitchen. He opened the door with a gentle push, seeing Rachel sitting up in bed, scrolling through her phone. His lamp glowed softly on his nightstand, washing partially over the bed. Closing the door, he smirked as she didn't even bother to look up to see who it was. "What're you looking at?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked around to his side of the bed.

"Checking for …" Rachel's brow furrowed, her sentence trailing off as she read, her focus lost on replying.

Sam finished taking off his shirt, tossing it onto the bureau. "Checking for?"

It took her a while to respond. "Um, checking for leads," she finally said, still reading intently.

After stripping off his tee shirt, Sam unbuckled his belt. He watched as Rachel was completely absorbed in her work, unable to help but admire her in that moment. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a thermal shirt that hugged her curves. She always ran cold, needing the extra layers to stay warm. He smirked. Unless he warmed her up.

With a sniff, he kicked off his boots and slid down his jeans, his socks following, landing on the floor in front of the bureau. The entire room smelled like her shampoo, her thick hair still damp from her shower. He could also smell another layer of fragrance in the mix, a vibrant but warm sweetness to it. Whatever it was, it immediately drove him wild. "What are you wearing?" he asked, wetting his lips.

Rachel finally looked up at him for the first time since he walked in, seeing him stripped down to his boxer briefs. She was confused. It was a normal pairing for sleepwear for her. "Pajamas?" she replied with a raised brow.

Sam laughed softly. "No," he corrected, flicking off the side table light as he got into his side of the bed. He took her phone and tossed it on her bedside table.

"Hey!" she said, even more confused.

Before she could say anything else, he cupped her cheek, his thumb resting over her mouth. "I meant," he started slowly, his tone darkening, "what perfume are you wearing?"

Rachel swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Just … lotion."

With a devilish smirk, Sam trapped her lips between his, covering her whimper. He threaded his fingers into her hair, more than hungry for her. His stress over the last few weeks had manifested itself into many different things, but his current state of arousal was a new one. His tongue traced her bottom lip, and she immediately let him in, snatching the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck as she returned his kiss with a moan.

After a few long moments, he broke away, keeping her close. "Whatever lotion it is," he said with a slight growl, "be ready for the consequences whenever you wear it."

"Sam," Rachel murmured, halting him as he went to kiss her again. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. Under his left eye, an angry bruise was forming, and the weight of his worries was visible in his features. Still, he was handsome, but she worried about his hidden pain. Should she confess? Or should she allow herself some intimacy with the man she was going to marry? Tracing her finger over his injury, then down to his beard, she sighed. "I was trying to find leads on Dean," she admitted softly.

Sam leaned into her touch. "I know," he replied. He drew in a deep breath, his thumb skimming over her cheek. "But that needs to wait." He gave a little head shake as she went to object. "I need to love on my wife right now," he whispered. "I need to show you how much you mean to me."

Rachel's stomach knotted at his somewhat incorrect word choice. "I've never doubted your love," she assured.

His thumb ran across her lips. "I haven't been there lately."

"You have."

"Not the way I should be."

"Sammy, you've been looking for Dean, which is what you _need_ to focus on."

He ran his hands over her, trailing them across her curves. "Maybe it is. But I could've lost you today. Lucky for me, you're a badass." He smirked a little as she laughed under her breath. "So right now, what I _want_ and _need_ to focus on is you."

Before she could object, he resumed his heady kiss, groaning in satisfaction as he felt her relax into his embrace. His fingers slipped down over her waist, toying with the hem of her shirt as he knelt in front of her on the bed. The waffle knit was a stark contrast to her creamy, soft flesh. Sam drew her closer with his left hand as his right explored her waist and hip.

Rachel had always felt more than satisfied by Sam's affections, but in that moment, there was an extra spark that she couldn't deny. As she tasted his mouth, his beard gently scratched over her, the texture still something she was adjusting to. A sudden worry filled her head as Sam's hand slid up higher, his fingertips teasing across the side of her breast. Was the spark she felt from her new powers?

Before she had time to think about it any further, Sam parted from her lips, a growl vibrating in his throat as he yanked off her shirt. "Goddamn," he groaned, his hands finding her breasts and cupping them. Rachel's eyes rolled shut as he massaged them, his rough hands more than pleasurable across the sensitive skin. "So beautiful," he murmured, kissing across her shoulder as he worked over her.

His mouth found her nipple, and she jumped in a bit of surprise at his aggressiveness. "Sam," she shuddered, hearing him grunt in response as he drew her into his mouth. Her fingers twisted into his hair, warmth flooding through her as he released her. The cool air against the wet skin made her shiver, it only intensifying as he began his work on the other. She ran her hands from his hair to his neck, then his shoulders, bracing herself as he continued to suckle her. Her back arched, her nails digging into his skin as she gasped, pushing herself that much closer to his mouth.

Releasing her, Sam wet his lips as he watched her eyes slowly open. "Mine," said, taking her and pressing her down into the center of the bed. He hovered over her, attacking her neck. Rachel whimpered, feeling his stiffness through the cotton of his boxer briefs as he straddled her.

Lifting from her, Sam yanked down her flannel pants, tossing them aside as he inspected her underwear. His fingers found the red satin, running over it just above her core. "These are new," he noted softly.

"Got them after a supply run last week," Rachel murmured, his teasing touch making her more than heated. "To make up for the polka dot pair."

A hum rumbled in his throat. "How are these any less tempting than those?" He slid his fingers under the elastic of the waistband. "Doubt these will make it long."

"You really need to stop shredding my underwear," Rachel teased.

"Then you should stop wearing them," Sam countered with an undeniable spark in his eye.

"Not happening."

"Then I can't guarantee their safety. Not if they block me from what I want."

"Well, try, Sam," Rachel replied, narrowing her eyes playfully. "It's not that hard."

Sam hooked his finger around the panties, yanking them down a little. "Kind of sassy tonight, huh?" With another pull, he slid them off her legs and tossed them aside. His hands slid up her bare thighs as her feet pressed into the mattress. "I think you're forgetting one important detail." With a quick lift of her bottom half, Sam's hand smacked across her ass cheek, making her gasp. "Sassy girls get punished." He smacked her again, chuckling as she drew in a sharp breath. He leaned down a little, smiling at her. "Say it."

His dominance game was always more than enough to drive her crazy, but it seemed to be that much more intense in that moment. There was a feral wildness in his eyes that immediately made her core throb. "Yankees," she murmured.

"Good girl." Sam rubbed her ass with a small hum in his throat. "So, what do you think? Should you be punished?"

"Yes."

Sam smacked her a third time, rubbing her ass through the pleasurable sting. "Manners."

"Yes, sir."

Rachel gasped as he smacked her a fourth time, a little lighter than the rest. "Manners, little girl," he repeated.

"Yes, sir, please," she whimpered as he massaged her.

"Good girl," he said, lowering her back down to the mattress.

Rachel chewed on the corner of her bottom lip as she watched Sam draw down his boxer briefs, revealing his hardness. When he threw them aside, he moved closer to her, taking her calves in each of his hands. He lifted her legs up, resting her calves on his shoulders as he knelt in front of her, brushing against her opening. The angle left her backside hovering off the mattress, Sam's thick hands holding her in place at her shins. "Mine," he reminded her, yanking her toward himself. He pressed into her, groaning at her readiness as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Sam," Rachel shivered, her eyes shutting as he started to move in and out of her. His length stretched her, more than filling her as he quickened his pace with rough slams. She gasped, her eyes opening as he smacked her with his left hand, continuing to thrust roughly into her. "Shit," she moaned, clawing at the sheets as he somehow deepened his drives.

"Don't you dare come," he warned, humming in pleasure as she whimpered. "Don't."

"Yes … sir," she managed, her fingers tightening around the blankets and sheets.

Sam leaned in a little, bending Rachel to open her that much more. His strokes hit her exactly right, rapidly making it more difficult to control her arousal. "I can't," she managed between pants.

"Yes, you can," he corrected.

"Sam—"

"You can, and you will."

When Sam didn't take no for an answer, it usually meant he only increased the torture. He knew the power he had over her, and wasn't afraid to use it against her. "You're going to wait," he said, his voice lowering as he rocked into her, "because I want you to come so hard that everyone in the bunker hears you scream my name."

Rachel's lips parted, knowing his demand was one that was very probable, but not something she exactly wanted others to witness. "I can't …" She groaned as he withdrew fully, then drove back in. "I can't …"

Sam chuckled. "Oh, you will, sweetheart." He moved his hands to her ass and gripped it as he thrusted. "You're going to say my name a lot tonight." He pressed a wet kiss onto the side of her knee. "Go ahead," he murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across his mouth. "Come for me. I want to hear it."

It only took a few more moments of Sam's expert drives to send Rachel over the edge, his name a heady scream that she barely managed to douse into her fist. Sam slowed a little, licking his lips as he felt her tighten around him. "You get one freebie," he murmured, kissing her knee again. "The rest will be how I want it."

Withdrawing from her, Sam lowered Rachel to the mattress, turning her onto her stomach. His mouth moved along her ass in slow, wet kisses, groaning as he heard her whimper into her pillow. Spreading her open, he dove back into her, coming to hover completely over her. He trapped her wrists, pinning her to the mattress. "This time," he whispered into her ear as he thrust into her, "no muffling. Or else there will be a bigger punishment."

"Sam," Rachel panted, trying to maintain coherent thought as he pressed deeply into her, "they'll hear."

"That's the idea," he replied with a smirk she could hear. He grunted as he felt her wrists move, her hand instinctively going to her mouth. "Nope," he reminded her with a chuckle.

Rachel knew she could bury her face into the pillow, but she also knew Sam was more than serious, and he'd likely do something extreme to make sure he heard her screams. Her left cheek pressed against her pillow, she squeezed her eyes shut, the friction he made as he moved in her building her tension back up. She felt his soft, warm kiss on her cheek, his broad, tall body more than covering her as he held her down tight. Being so helpless under him was more of a turn on than she realized; her arousal built rapidly, and he seemed to know it. "Sam," she whispered, one last ditch attempt at bargaining with him, "please."

"Please what?" he asked into her ear.

"Please, sir …" She was losing track of her thoughts as he quickened his pace. "Please …"

"Just let it happen," Sam urged, kissing her neck. "I want you to feel it."

"It's … I …"

"If you're fighting me, I can make things worse, little girl."

"Sam …"

With a smirk, Sam slowed, then withdrew. Rachel panted, her head heavy as she felt his weight lift off the bed. Trying to recover while trying to see what he was up to, she raised her head a little to find him taking up his flannel shirt. Was he mad? A pit rose in her stomach at his lack of communication, and she rolled to her side, watching as he turned to her. "Sam?" she dared to ask, still more than aroused.

Sam smiled down at her and knelt over her on the mattress. "You asked for it," he said. Before she could ask for clarification, he laid her on her back, lifting her arms so they laid in a comfortable loose circle around the sides of her head. His lip curled as he focused, something that was both adorable and sexy to Rachel. She felt the soft flannel of his shirt wrap around her wrists, and her eyes widened. Attempting to move her lower half, she realized he had pinned her between his legs. She was trapped. Sam made she her arms were comfortable, but secure, as he finalized the tie on a loop and rope attached to the back of his headboard.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, watching as his damp hair skimmed his brow.

"Since you're usually a naughty girl, I figured it would eventually be necessary," he replied, failing to hide his satisfied grin.

Rachel swallowed as Sam lowered his hands. She tested the bindings, finding them soft but secure. Why did she doubt Sam Winchester knew how to string something up? "Sam," she panicked, seeing him spread her legs and press her knees into the mattress, "we … we—"

"Shh," he interrupted, rubbing her knees. He pursed his lips. "Unless you can't."

"You know I can't!" she hissed.

A cocky grin widened on the left side of his mouth. "Perfect."

Rachel gasped as Sam entered her with a grunt. He was still more than aroused, his member thick and demanding as it filled her. He held her thighs, lifting her just a little off the mattress, his drives aimed perfectly to her most sensitive area. "Oh, God, Sam," she shuddered. "Sam …" Her mind whirled with panic, realizing he was more than serious about his threat. She jumped as he smacked her ass.

"Loud," he ordered, his voice husky.

Her voice was still soft. "Sam-"

He smacked her again, rubbing her after. "I said, nice and loud, little girl."

"Sam!" she shuddered, this time a little louder as he reached up and pinched her nipple.

"Maybe if you beg me enough, I'll untie you."

This version of Dominant Sam was far more demanding than she was used to. "Please," she whispered, her eyes shutting. "Please, Sam!"

"Excuse me?"

"Please, sir!" she gasped as he opened her wider. "Please, sir … please!"

Sam was dangerously close to his own release, and he could feel Rachel wasn't too far behind. "Please sir what?"

"Unite me!" she begged; the tone was delicious to his ears.

"Goddamn," he grunted, trying to pull himself together. "You feel so good when you beg."

He failed to slow or stop, and Rachel knew she was doomed. She hadn't ever been able to soften her orgasms without a pillow or a fist. And at the rate Sam was going, it wasn't happening tonight. Only a few thrusts after he smacked her ass, her breath turned choppy. "Oh, fuck!" she hissed.

"Fuck yes," Sam groaned, sharpening his movements. "Come for me, baby girl. Scream my name."

A few moments later, she tightened around him, her back arching as she tensed against her bindings. "Oh, fuck!" she cried out louder, her voice building. "Yes! Fuck! Sam! _Sam_!"

His name rang through his ears, and it triggered his own release. He grunted and growled, his fingers tightening over her legs as he filled her. "Fuck yes," he groaned, slamming into her as he felt her tighten around him. "Fuck, Rachel!"

Several moments later, both came slowly down from their highs, Sam still buried in Rachel. "Oh my God," Rachel shuddered, her legs quivering. "Dammit, Sam!" Her breathy, weak anger was adorable to him; he chuckled. "You said …"

"I said maybe," he corrected, his chest rising and falling as he caught his own breath.

"Everyone … everyone heard …"

"If they did," Sam murmured, "then they heard me pleasuring my wife. Which is my job." He slowly withdrew from her, and she whimpered at the loss. Pressing a soft, languid kiss over her mouth, he stood and untied her wrists, adjusting her arms to be comfortable before he began cleaning himself up. She was nearly asleep already, and the sight filled him with pride. Her body was flushed, her hair tangled, her thighs shaking with residual tension. "Mine," he murmured, pulling on his boxer briefs and a pair of sweatpants before he gently cleaned her and replaced her panties and pants. He had gotten used to redressing her usually unresponsive body, she tiny enough that she was easily maneuvered. Sam kissed her neck as he tugged her shirt over her head, smoothing her hair from her eyes as she shivered and moaned softly, still almost asleep. "I got you," he whispered, sliding her arms into the sleeves and covering her stomach before he drew the blankets back over them both. Sam wrapped her into his arms, a satisfied hum rumbling in his throat as he tasted her skin. The woman in his arms held more power over him than she'd ever know. She was his, and nothing would take her from him.

A few moments later, he froze, his eyes opening in dread. He hadn't used protection. "Oh God," he breathed, panic filling him. Was she on pills? He didn't even know. His pulse grew thready at the idea, his stomach bottoming out. A moment of pure bliss had turned into one of pure torture and terror. He was thankful she didn't seem to feel his tension, still sleeping soundly. Still, he thought about how Robbie's birth had literally killed her. "Maybe …" Maybe she wouldn't get pregnant. The odds were with him. He shut his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. Of course something beautiful involving her would end in fear. It nearly always did. "Please," he begged, his jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth. His hands tightened around her. "Please ... just ..." With resignation, he shut his eyes, letting the tears come.


	80. Chapter 80

**Thanks for the reads! I'm always a fan of feedback, so be sure to leave some love (or constructive hate) before you go! :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E1 "Stranger In A Strange Land" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episode, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

Rachel woke later that morning, surrounded by Sam's thick arms. His warmth flowed over her, the gentle rhythm of his sleep soothing. Despite falling asleep quickly, she remembered their love making in vivid detail. Sam's dominance, she knew, was both for her and for him. For her, to show her someone would take care of her if she allowed them to, and for him, to ease his desire for control—especially in their increasingly chaotic life. She knew, though, she held the power. All it would take would be one simple word, and everything would come to a screeching halt. For all his showmanship, Rachel knew it wasn't really Sam in control of her, but rather she in control of herself.

She trailed her hand over his stomach, dipping her fingertips through the grooves of his muscular abs. He was peaceful, for a change, the stress and worries hidden behind his closed eyes and relaxed body. This wasn't a version of Sam she saw often, especially now. This was a boyish, hope-filled Sam—a gentle giant without burdens beyond what anyone should bear. A future husband, a father, a family man.

Rachel's hand froze, ice filling her veins at light speed. _Family_. The word triggered an important detail of their rendezvous. Sam hadn't used protection. "Oh shit," she barely whispered, looking up at her sleeping fiancé. Her throat dried out, her stomach churning. She wasn't on pills. She only had Robbie just over a month ago. Besides, she hadn't been on pills since three years ago, when she actually had a doctor. Her heart raced, and she suppressed the tremble that threatened to course through her.

As quietly as she could, she shifted within Sam's arms, enabling herself to reach to his forehead. She had tested her power to help him sleep in the Impala, but she had absolutely no idea if "willing" Sam to forget they didn't use protection would work. She drew in a breath, resting her fingers on his forehead and concentrating on the thought of him sleeping. It seemed to work, his body deepening its state of relaxation visible through his loosened muscles. With a tiny inhale, Rachel shifted her thoughts, closing her eyes. _Please forget that we weren't safe last night._ It was the only thing she could do for him. He didn't need to worry about a potential pregnancy on top of everything else he already shouldered. It felt dirty and wrong, deceptive. There was no other choice, though. Sam couldn't worry for her right now any more than he already did. She couldn't add to his stress. She swallowed hard. Now was also not the time to tell him about her powers. When they found Dean, she decided. It would buffer her deception.

Releasing his forehead, Rachel settled back into Sam's arms, unsure if her trick worked. She was more than awake, eyes wide as she stared at the wall in the darkness of the room. She shivered, and he must've felt it; Sam drew her closer, surrounding her tightly as she rested her head on his chest. The steady drum of his heart nearly echoed in her ears, doing nothing to soothe her. Despite the closeness, she never felt more alone.

* * *

Sam woke hours later, immediately finding the bed empty next to him. He sighed, sitting up and glancing at his watch. It was nearly lunchtime. Standing, he scratched at his bedhead, trying to swallow the disappointment of Rachel's absence. Their union the night before was a more than pleasurable memory, one he had hoped to expand on before having to be smacked in the face with reality again. With her, he could be free, unburdened, unchained. Being with her was the most peace and bliss he'd ever have, something he wasn't quite ready to let go of for the day. Still, she was gone, and it was already far later than he had slept in for a while.

He dressed in his clothes from the night before, smirking as he slid on his navy button down. The soft material still smelled like her lotion. He decided he was a masochist—keeping the scent so close for so long would be pure torture, but he was looking forward to it. If nothing else, it would make him smile. And with little to go on for Dean, he was going to need all the help he could get in that department.

When he emerged from his room, he could hear the distinct bustle of hunters scattered throughout the bunker. It was a sound he had grown accustomed to. Prior to bringing hunters from the Apocalypse World, the bunker had been far quieter. Now, it was a haven for activity—for making supplies and tracking monsters. When Dean was taken by Michael, Sam was at a loss for what to do. Once he enlisted the help of other hunters, they seemed to stick around. Some of the refugees needed a place to crash, and so the new vibe of the bunker was born, he assuming the role of their leader with a fair amount of hesitation.

"Chief," Rick said with a nod as Sam entered the kitchen, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Sleep well?"

Sam smiled. He really did. "Yeah," he replied, hiding his chuckle. "Guess I needed the rest."

"'Course you did," Rick replied through a chew. He saw Sam's brow furrow, and he shrugged. "Just kinda obvious."

Sam's stomach knotted a little. Though he had been bold with Rachel, the idea of others hearing them now seemed less appealing.

"Can't say I blame you. I'd need it too, after …" Rick paused and looked up from his sandwich. "Well, after Dean, and all. You've been stretched thin for weeks."

Sam laughed softly, his head hanging. "Right, uh … yeah." He gave him a smile, grateful Rick wasn't referring to his wild night with Rachel. Blowing out a breath, he moved to the coffee pot, spotting enough for a couple cups. Taking down a mug, he poured himself some, mixing in cream and sipping it with a sigh.

"Gotta say," Rick said with a mouthful behind him, seated at the table, "your fiancée can sure make a hot sandwich." When Sam looked over at him, he cleared his throat. "Not that women … aren't meant to do other things … She, uh, just … made a—"

"It's alright," Sam assured with a chuckle. "She does cook well."

"Full package, man." Rick wiped his mouth. "A pretty girl who can kick ass and cook. Need to find me someone like that. You're a lucky man."

Sam nodded. "Believe me, I know it."

"You know what?" Rachel asked as she came in with a stack of dishes. As she passed by Sam, she paused to give him a quick peck on the lips, then went to the sink.

Sam's eyes followed her, and he wet his lips as he took in her backside. Her jeans hugged its curves to near perfection. Maybe he was more in tune with the scent, but he could still smell the lotion on her as she moved. He caught a glimmer of her ring as she began washing dishes. Though life felt like hell with Dean gone, he knew he was damn lucky to have her.

"I was just telling the Chief how lucky he is," Rick said. "He got himself a girl who can do it all."

Rachel laughed, soaping up a sponge and scrubbing at the dish she held. "Well, thanks. Not sure about 'all,' but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." She glanced back at Sam with a smirk, then returned her focus to the dishes. "Hungry?" she asked him as she worked. "There're hot sandwiches in the maps room. Chopped steak, turkey melts, and tomato cheese."

"Sounds great, thanks," Sam said, drawing in a breath. He looked to Rick. "Anything on the scanner?"

Rick shook his head, standing with his empty plate. "Not a peep."

"Alright, uh, just let me know if something changes."

"You got it." Rick looked to Rachel, seeing her drying her hands. She caught his eyes as she turned to him.

"Gimme," she said with a smile as she held her hand out.

"I can get it," Rick offered.

"Give," Rachel repeated, her brow arching through her grin.

Rick handed her the plate. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"No sweat."

As Rick went through the entry, Robbie flapped his wings in, startling him. "Whoa, Little Man," he laughed. "Gave me a scare."

"Sorry," Robbie laughed, watching him leave. He then shifted his focus to Sam. "Dad," he sighed happily, wrapping his arms around him.

Sam embraced his son, lifting him up into his arms. "Hey, buddy. I missed you." He kissed the top of his head, relishing the feel of holding his son. His _son._ He had a _son._ He would soon have a _wife._ The beauty of both made him nearly cry, and he tightened his hold on the boy.

"Missed you too." Robbie paused, eyes widening with excitement. "Guess what?"

Sam was amused by his apparent pride. "What?"

"I know everything there is to know about Rosicrucianism!"

The tidbit was more than unexpected. "Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. I'm gonna read about druids next." Robbie toyed with Sam's collar, focusing on his buttons with a hard swallow. "Dad, uh … can we go outside today sometime? I really … want to play catch. 'Cause Rick showed me some baseball games on the internet and I really want to try it. He said I could use his ball."

Rachel's heart broke through Sam's silence, knowing how badly he wanted to give Robbie some normalcy, but also how much he feared for his son. "What's the weather like today?" she heard Sam ask; she paused, holding the soapy dish as she looked back at Sam, surprised.

Robbie squinted a little as he looked at Sam, silent for a moment. "Sunny. A little cold."

The abilities his son had never ceased to amaze Sam. "Alright," he said, his heart full as he saw Robbie's wide grin. "I've got a ball in my room. Give me ten minutes, alright?"

"Yes, sir!" Robbie leapt out of Sam's arms, disappearing with a whoosh.

Sam caught Rachel's dumbfounded stare. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's just …" Rachel swallowed. "I didn't think you'd … want him to …"

Coming to stand behind her, Sam ran his hands over her forearms, kissing her cheek. "My family deserves a normal life," he murmured.

"Sam—"

"You do," he insisted, kissing her again. "I want to be better for you both."

Rachel set the dish down and dried her hands, turning in Sam's arms to face him. "Sam, you're an amazing man. And an amazing father. You don't have to prove that."

"You both deserve so much more," Sam objected. He kissed her forehead with a sigh. "Baby girl, you deserve the entire universe, and all I've given you is a souvenir keychain."

"Stop," Rachel ordered, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Sammy, you've given me _everything_. Stop thinking you haven't." She laid her finger over his lips. "I know you don't think you've been good enough, but you've been everything we could ever want. You've given your _life_ to protect both of us. What else could we ever need?"

Sighing, Sam drew her close. "God, I love you."

"And I love you." She paused. "You know, you called me your wife twice last night."

"I like how it sounds better than fiancée," he shrugged.

"Me too," Rachel admitted softly, snuggling against him.

"So," Sam smiled into her hair, "anyone say anything?"

Rachel laughed, a blush creeping over her cheeks. "No."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll have to try to make you scream louder."

With a playful smack on his arm, Rachel pulled away. "Oh no you won't. I won't let you."

The cocky smile he wore the night before returned, highlighting his dimples. "Challenge accepted, little girl."

Rachel watched with a shake of her head as he backed away, then left for the maps room. When he was out of sight, she shut her eyes in relief. She hadn't been fully alone yet all day, and the task of masking her worries for to fool Robbie and Castiel was nothing short of difficult. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. She had contemplated going to the pharmacy and getting some Plan B pills, but what good would they do? If she ended up pregnant, she would be carrying another child as powerful as Robbie. Pills wouldn't do jack.

She rinsed Rick's dish with a quivered sigh, her hand trembling as she set it in the rack. Not only was she lying to Sam about Philadelphia, but now she was tampering with his memories to keep secrets about another potential target he'd worry over.

"Oh God," Rachel gasped, her hand finding her mouth. If she got pregnant, the baby would inherit the rogue grace in her. "Oh God." Her skin paled, and she gripped the counter, knuckles white as she tried to control her breathing. Fear flooded her veins, inescapable and haunting. She felt ready to collapse from the weight of it all. Rachel looked toward the maps room direction, where she heard Sam talking with some hunters. She couldn't possibly do this to him. Not now. Tears filled her eyes. What were her options? _Breathe_ , she coached herself, forcing herself to pause for a deep sip of air as some tears escaped. She exhaled fully, still clinging to the counter. Nothing yet was known. She would have to wait at least a month before she could find out. Would she keep everything from Sam for a month? Would Bobby let her? "When we find Dean," she decided in a whisper, swiping the moisture from her cheeks. Then she would tell him about Philadelphia. Rachel just prayed Bobby would stay quiet for that long.

* * *

After eating, Sam headed to his room for the baseball he kept in his memorabilia box. He opened the door and flicked on the lights, sighing as he unloaded his keys and extra cash, and set his phone down on his desk. He wouldn't need it all just to play ball with Robbie. And with nothing on the tracker, it looked like it was going to be a quiet day.

As he turned to get the box, his phone lit up and began vibrating with an incoming call. Sam looked back to it, not recognizing the number. Still, he picked it up. "Hello?"

"Sam?" a feminine voice asked on the other end.

Sam was surprised and confused. "Jo?"

Sister Jo sighed, looking around as she held the phone to her ear. "Yeah. We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"The kind where Michael found me."

Sam froze. "Was he … Is he …"

"Dean's vessel is fine," Jo interrupted. "The outfits are something to get used to."

"What did he say?"

Sister Jo sighed. "He asked me what I wanted." She clutched the phone a little tighter. "Listen, he's not interested in leaving much behind as-is, that much I can tell you."

Sam shifted his weight. "Where are you? How long ago was this?"

"Duluth. Last night."

"Did he say anything about where he was headed?"

"Nope."

With a hard sigh, Sam nodded. "Alright, call me _immediately_ if you see him again, okay?"

"Sure." Sister Jo cleared her throat. "Listen, you might want to keep the future wife and kid under lock and key for a while. I'm pretty sure Michael would like to snatch Robbie up." She paused. "Not that he doesn't already know where he is."

"How do you know about my son?" Sam asked, more than irritated.

"Oh please," Sister Jo scoffed. "They're both all over angel radio. They've got some pretty powerful juice. Right now, Michael seems too busy doing his Meet And Greet tour, so you should be okay. Wouldn't chance it, though."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Yeah. Right." He cleared his throat. Rachel didn't have any grace. Maybe just a smidgen from when she gave birth. Was it still resonating? "Thanks."

He hung up, his hand slowly lowering as he focused on the surface of his desk. Dean was okay. That was a good sign. And he was near Duluth. Whether he was still there or not, he didn't know, but a vigorous internet search might help him find out.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, he abandoned his room, forgetting about the baseball as he headed for the library. He was focused as he sat down at his laptop, brow wrinkled as he keyed in a few items.

"Dad?" Robbie asked behind him.

Sam's eyes shut. The baseball. "Robbie, I just need a little bit, alright?" He turned, his guilt growing as he saw Robbie in his coat with a hat on.

Robbie's disappointment was clear. "But you said—"

"I know," Sam interrupted gruffly. "I can't right now."

"But Dad—"

"Not right now!" Sam snapped, immediately regretting his tone when he saw Robbie's hurt look. Robbie looked down at his sneakers with a sniff, then turned to leave. "Robbie," Sam called, his voice caught in his throat as Robbie flapped away. His eyes squeezed shut, his hand balling into a fist as he wrestled with what to do. Dean could still be in Duluth, but his son was forced onto the back burner yet again. He hesitated for a few long moments before his fist pounded on the desktop, anger burning through him. He swiped at his face, covering his mouth. Who was he kidding? He would never make a good father. Or a good husband. Rachel was wrong. All he did was fail the two people he loved.

In a burst of anger, Sam growled and shoved away from the desk, pacing like a caged lion. Michael couldn't die enough deaths to quell his rage. He used his brother, putting him in danger, and he caused his world to unravel. Sam grabbed the nearest item, a paperweight, and pitched it left of the telescope. It crashed into the wall, the glass shattering on impact. It did nothing to take away the pain

He hung his head as he heard someone rush in, sensing it was Maggie. "I'm fine," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Just a paperweight." He looked up through the silence that followed, confirming who it was as Maggie stared at him wide eyed.

"I …" She shook her head. "I came to ask if you knew where Robbie was." She swallowed. "He said he was going to be with you. But then Castiel heard his thoughts and … we can't find him."

Sam's heart stopped. "What do you mean, you can't find him?" Maggie was clearly nervous at Sam's dark tone. "What did Cas hear?!" Sam demanded.

"Just that … he was mad at you, and …" Maggie drew in a shaky breath. "And he wanted to be left alone."

Sam sprung into action, his terror driving him. "Get everyone in here," he ordered, Maggie quickly leaving. "Cas!" he added, whirling around when he heard the angel enter. "What do you hear on angel radio?"

"Sam—" Castiel began.

"Tell me what you hear!" Sam growled.

"Nothing, Sam," Castiel shot back, his own tone tainted with anger. "He's disconnected himself." He stepped closer. "What happened?"

Tears clouded Sam's vision. "We've got to find him," Sam said softly, though his insides were raging. He saw everyone flood into the library. "I need everyone out right now looking for Robbie. Anywhere you can think of. Get the drone in the air. Whatever we've got."

"Chief," a hunter named Daniel said, catching Sam's gruff look, "any idea where he'd go?"

Sam hesitated. "He wouldn't go far. Check the perimeter, the woods across the highway, anywhere secluded."

As all the hunters scattered, Rachel burst in, confused by the panic. "Dean?" she asked hopefully, locking eyes with Sam as she paused in the entry.

Sam shook his head, barely holding back the tears. "It's Robbie," he replied, seeing Rachel's horrified look in response. "He's gone."


	81. Chapter 81

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What the hell do you mean, 'he's gone?'" she demanded, moving to Sam with purpose.

"He left," Sam said, biting back his anger and fear.

"Why?!"

Sam drew in a few sharp breaths, taking hold of her upper arms. "Listen to me, we'll—"

"Why, Sam?" Rachel demanded, stiffening in his hold. "Why did he leave?"

Lowering his head, Sam swallowed. "Jo called," he whispered, pulling her away from the others. "She saw Dean in Duluth. I was …" Rachel could see the pain in his eyes. "I was scanning with the tracker, and … and I lost patience with Robbie." Sam felt his heart stop as he saw Rachel's devastated expression.

"Oh God," she breathed, her hand finding her mouth.

"We are going to find him," he resolved, his fingers tightening around her. A tear escaped, trailing down his cheek and disappearing into his beard. "I'm going to find him, baby. I promise."

Rachel could see Sam's more than evident guilt. She couldn't add to it, though she desperately wanted to lash out. Instead, she nodded. "I'm looking too," she decided, holding his gaze.

He nodded back, wetting his lips. He glanced up, seeing Mary and Bobby staring at him, dumbfounded. Still holding Rachel's upper arms, he addressed them. "Robbie's missing." Mary gasped, and Bobby's lips parted. "I need everyone on this."

Without a word, Mary and Bobby blended with Maggie's team, whose leader was already giving instructions on where they were looking.

"Chief!" Rick interrupted, distracting Sam as he relayed the individual team plans.

As they spoke, Rachel moved away from Sam, going for her coat on the hook in the maps room. She slid it on, not waiting for him on purpose. _If I can teleport, I can search faster,_ she decided.

A minute later, Sam jogged to catch up to her, finding the maps room empty. She was gone.

* * *

Rachel steadied herself as she landed in the thick brush in the middle of the woods. Teleporting wasn't an exact science yet for her, and she wasn't really even sure where she was. Still, she drew in a deep breath, nipping at her bottom lip as she began walking through the woods.

It was empty, not a trace of any other hunters around. How far had she gone? "Alright," she breathed, "let's see how angel radio works." With a pause, she pursed her lips, looking up in contemplation as the mere suggestion did nothing. "So …" She waited, still nothing happening. "Ooh-kay." Exhaling deeply, she continued forward, sticks cracking underfoot as she tugged her jacket around herself tighter. Going off on her own might not have been the best idea, considering she had no real idea how to control teleporting or angel radio reception. Still, she had to stick with it now, and pray she could make it worthwhile.

The air was thick with pre winter chill, its icy fingers digging through the material of her jacket. Rachel listened to the world around her, hearing distant flutters and sounds of birds above her. Her mind wandered to Sam as she walked. He said the angel who called herself Sister Jo called him, claiming to have seen Michael in Duluth. It was the best lead they had received in a while, one she knew Sam was more than anxious about. So much so, that he inadvertently drove their young son away. Rachel drew in a breath. Sam hadn't meant to make Robbie upset. He loved the boy more than life itself.

It was a few minutes later when Rachel realized the woods had fallen eerily silent. The birds above her seemed to have vanished, the only audible sign of life her own quickened breathing. A shiver ran up her arms. Something was way off.

With sudden force, she was slammed to the ground, her back forced into the dirt and leaves as she was driven across it toward the base of a tree. She collided with the hard bark, groaning at the impact as her spine and back slammed against it. Wearily, she opened her eyes, finding a group of three men standing across from her with sick grins on their faces. "Well, well, well," one said, stepping closer. "This is a nice surprise."

Rachel tried to move, but she was bound. She looked up to the men, their faces distorted and grotesque. _Demons. "_ Screw you!" Immediately, she countered the invisible force, wincing as she dug into the powers she wasn't really even sure how to work.

The demons were more than surprised, their eyes flashing black as they angrily pushed deeper into her. "Don't make me hurt you, bitch," the demon warned. Rachel bit back her yelp, trying to muscle them with her newly acquired grace, but slowly failing. She was doing something wrong, but hell if she knew what or how to fix it.

"Hey!" she heard Robbie scream behind them, his boyish voice taking on a gruffness.

The demons whirled around, excitement spreading over their faces. "My prince," the one cooed, smiling. "We're here to help you."

"Let her go," Robbie growled. His hand balled into a fist at his side, his bright green eyes focused on the demons.

"Sure," the demon replied. "But you need to agree to come home."

Robbie's nostrils flared. "My home isn't with you."

The demon chuckled. "Yes, it is. You're meant to rule. And we can guide you, naturally."

"Let my mom go!" Robbie repeated harshly, saliva flinging from his mouth. He waited a moment, then saw their unchanged faces. His hand lifted to them, his fingers spreading as he narrowed his eyes. "I said, _let her go_."

The demons began to panic as they felt the immediate painful clench Robbie made with his power around them. "Alright!" the front one rasped. Robbie watched as Rachel was freed, seeing her stand slowly. "Let us go now, huh?" the demon bargained.

"No," Robbie spat. "You hurt my mom!"

As the boy closed his outstretched hand into a fist, the demons burst into balls of fire and gray smoke, leaving no trace of their existence behind as they disappeared.

Rachel's lips parted, shocked at how Robbie had destroyed them in a way she had never witnessed before. It was faster and stronger than Sam had done with his power, reminiscent of how Lucifer destroyed angels. "Robbie," she breathed, racing to him and taking him into her arms with relief. She pressed him to herself, shutting her eyes. "Baby," she whispered, kneeling to his level, "why did you leave? We were worried sick!"

"I heard the demons," Robbie admitted.

"And you went after them alone?!"

"Mom—"

"No," Rachel interrupted, lip quivering. "Robbie, you cannot go after demons alone." She drew in a shaky breath, taking his hands as she tried to be patient. "I know you want to fight, but fighting like this isn't smart. And that's how you _need_ to fight—smart." With a sigh, she squeezed his hands. "What did they say?"

Robbie swallowed. "They said they wanted me. And they'd do whatever it takes to get me."

"Well, they won't," Rachel assured, a false confidence permeating through her voice. "Daddy and I won't let them anywhere near you."

"Dad doesn't care," Robbie muttered, sniffing.

Her heart broke at his sadness. "Of course he does," she insisted. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the world." She brushed his thick hair from his brow.

Robbie's jaw tightened. "No he doesn't. All he cares about is Uncle Dean."

"Robbie, your father is in a really tough spot. He wants to find Uncle Dean so bad, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."

Robbie toed the ground with his sneaker. "I just wish we could just do stuff together."

"I know, baby," Rachel whispered, drawing him in to press a kiss on his forehead. "I know this is hard. But Daddy loves you so much. You have to remember that."

With a sigh, Robbie nodded. "Is he mad?" he asked, resting his cheek on her shoulder as she embraced him.

"No," she assured. "Just worried."

"How did you get out here?" Robbie asked as he pulled away.

"Teleported." Rachel sighed. "I'm not too good at it."

"Did you tell Dad about your powers?"

Rachel swallowed. "No. And I still need you to not say anything for now."

The boy pursed his lips. "You said lying was bad."

"It is," Rachel replied hesitantly, "but for now, it's not lying, so much as waiting to tell the truth." She sighed heavily as Robbie gave her a look. "Please," she whispered. "Just … Just do this for me."

"Okay," Robbie shrugged reluctantly.

"Think you can teleport us back?"

"Uh …" Robbie chewed on his lip. "I kinda used my energy. I'm sorry."

"Baby, it's okay," Rachel assured, kissing his forehead as she stood and scanned the woods. "Let's just …"

Before Rachel could reply, her lips parted in horror as she saw a group of men and women approaching. Their eyes were flooded black, sinister smiles on their faces. Rachel shoved Robbie behind herself, keeping a tight grip on him as the demons neared.

"Mom," Robbie argued behind her with a squirm.

"No," she said firmly. "Stay behind me."

"Sam should've taken Kip's deal," the woman with blonde hair in the front sneered. She grinned as she flicked her wrist, immediate pressure surrounding Rachel's throat.

"You'll … never … have him," Rachel managed, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused on emitting her own powers back. They countered the demon's fairly well, clearly surprising them all.

"Interesting," the blonde murmured, trying to gain an upper hand but finding a stalemate instead. "When did Mommy get powers?" The demon looked to what she could see of Robbie.

Rachel dug deeper, gritting her teeth. "You don't touch him."

"Oh, we will have him." The demon shifted her focus back to Rachel. "You're pretty strong. But are you strong enough for all of us?"

A cool rush flowed through Rachel with sudden force, her body tingling from the immense power that surged through her veins. With a blink, her eyes flashed a blueish purple. "Let's find out."

Rachel blasted the demon away with a flick of her wrist, the others immediately charging at her. She snarled, flipping them over and knocking them down with powerful physical and angelic blows. She had never felt stronger, more sure, more alive. It was as if her body was a tank, she being operated by a skilled driver. Each demon who tried to take her down met a bloody, messy fate. The gruesomeness increased with the body count, Rachel bypassing the need for a weapon. Her adrenaline courses through her, electrifying her as she watched the demons scream for their lives, then tossed them clean through jagged branches after lighting them up and burning out their essences.

Rachel tightened her grip around the last demon's throat, holding her in place as she eyed her. "You filthy rats will never get him," she whispered. "Because he will be Michael's." With a press to her forehead, the demon was burnt out. She tossed the vessel aside, surveying the damage. Ravaged bodies and splatters of blood decorated the forest, and Rachel's clothes, face, and hands. Her heart raced in her chest, her lips curling into a smile of satisfaction.

" _Mom_!"

Robbie's desperate voice behind her drew Rachel back into reality, she blinked hard, the angelic color disappearing from her eyes. Her lips parted as she took in the scene. It was horrific. More than horrific. Could her son have done this? Whirling around, she looked down at Robbie, her mouth gaped. "Robbie, what did you do?" she breathed.

Robbie shook his head violently. There was a fear in his eyes that left her more than unsettled, as if he were afraid of her for some reason. "No …" He gulped, his breath quickening. Rachel stepped toward him, freezing as Robbie jumped back.

"Robbie," Rachel whispered, pained at his fear. "It's okay. Just … tell me what you did."

" _You_ did it, Mom!" he shouted, a quiver to his voice. "You … You killed all of them."

Horrified, Rachel looked down at her hands, finding blood staining her skin and clothes crimson. Some of it dripped off her fingers, and it made her stomach lurch. "Oh God," she whispered, backing away from her son. "Oh my God."

"Over here!" a man shouted in the distance. Branches snapping underfoot caught Rachel's attention; she looked up toward the sound. It grew louder and more pressing as a group of hunters came into view, Mary and Bobby leading the charge.

Mary's stomach churned at the multiple dead bodies, stunned as Rachel came into better view. She was painted in blood, her hands trembling at her sides. Bobby looked at the corpses, finding all their eyes burnt out. Still, some necks were snapped, some impaled, as if it were an added bonus. His eyes widened, and he drew his weapon and pushed forward, keeping Mary from approaching. "Bobby!" Mary protested, looking at him.

"Get the angel cuffs," Bobby barked over his shoulder, his focus remaining on Rachel.

"Bobby," Rachel breathed, desperation riddling her voice, "please … I …"

"Save it," he snapped. Taking the cuffs from another hunter, he glanced to Mary. "Stay," he instructed, his voice marginally softer. He returned his attention to Rachel and Robbie. "Robbie, go to your grandmother," he said, though his focus was on Rachel. "Go," Bobby ordered Robbie, who hesitated as he looked to Rachel.

Rachel took a step, and Bobby raised his gun. "Please, Bobby—"

"Angel killing bullets," Bobby warned, seeing Robbie slowly skirting around to Mary. "Don't try it." When Mary had Robbie in her arms, he stepped close to Rachel. "You're a monster," he sneered, his insult only audible to her.

With wide eyes, Rachel looked to Mary, seeing four men moving toward her, one with cuffs in hand. She had caused this massacre. It didn't matter if she couldn't remember it, or wasn't in control of it. Bobby was right. She was a monster. Tears running down her bloodied cheeks, Rachel lifted up her wrists, holding Bobby's gaze. She didn't flinch as a hunter slapped the angel cuffs on her, hearing the familiar click. "Tighter," Bobby growled. The hunter hesitantly squeezed them as tight as they could go, the cold metal digging into Rachel's wrists, gnawing at her skin. Seeming satisfied, Bobby tugged her forward, his grip firm. "Let's go."


	82. Chapter 82

**Happy (early) Thanksgiving (if you celebrate)!**

 **I'd love some feedback, so leave some love or constructive hate when you're done reading! xo**

* * *

Rachel processed back toward the bunker in the stiff hold of two hunters, mechanical as she remained in shock. Coolness covered her, prickling her skin and flowing through her at the horrid flashes of the battleground that ran through her mind. The angel inside of her had taken over, possessing her. The brutality left in its wake was more than disturbing. Though it protected Robbie, it was nothing short of a monster. On top of that, there was no way her secret was safe anymore. Not with Bobby's insistence on treating her like a prisoner instead of Sam's fiancée.

"Bobby," Mary said quietly as they walked a few paces behind, Bobby keeping his weapon at the ready, "this isn't Rachel's fault."

"The hell it isn't," Bobby grumbled back.

"It's hardly fair. It's like blaming Dean for anything Michael may have done."

"I ain't interested in risking people over being soft. This has to be settled. It has to end."

"And how do you suggest we 'end' it?" Mary scoffed, catching a glimpse of Robbie as he solemnly walked alongside Rick.

Bobby sighed. "Look, you know as well as I do that, for the safety of everyone involved, we've gotta do _whatever_ we can to make it right."

Mary's lips parted. "You'd better not be suggesting killing her."

"Mary, I don't like the idea much either, but do you want that massacre to be hunters next time? You want it to be Sam or your grandson?"

"It won't be," Mary insisted coolly.

"Yeah, well you haven't lived with those sons a bitches like I have. Angel kill squads weren't known for their sweetness. They did what she did—to _anyone_ who was against Michael. How do you think things will play out if the angel in her gets a whiff of him?"

Ahead of them, Rachel could sense Sam before she fully saw him, watching how the hunters he was with parted for him like the Red Sea did for Moses. Sam's shock was palpable, his jaw slack as he momentarily halted, first taking in his son, alive and well, then Rachel's bloodied body and cuffed wrists. "What the fuck is going on?!" Sam snarled, rage surging through every inch of him as he rushed toward them. If looks could kill, he might've rivaled her massacre. "Let her go! _Now_!"

"Listen to me, Sam-" Bobby started, admittedly intimidated by Sam's behavior.

"I said, _let her go,_ " Sam shouted, racing up and ripping Rachel away from the hunters. His heart slammed in his chest as he drew her away from the others a few steps. "Keys!" he demanded, panting in his anger.

"Sam," Mary said, hesitating as her son whirled around to face her. "Sam, you might … you might want to-"

"Give me the keys," he interrupted, a grit to his tone.

"No, Sammy," Rachel whispered, gaining his attention. "They're right. I … I need to be cuffed."

"What the fuck for?!" Sam asked, utterly confused.

"I … I killed them."

"Who?"

"The demons that were after Robbie."

Her explanation didn't make things any clearer. "So, why do you need cuffs?"

"I'm …" Rachel swallowed. "I'm dangerous, Sam."

He scoffed. "What you need is a shower and rest."

Before she could say anything, Sam snatched the keys from Mary's hand, driving them into the lock and freeing Rachel. She rubbed her wrists, the skin irritated from the metal. Sam stuffed the cuffs into his jacket pocket. "Come on," he urged, a possessive hand guiding her forward as it rested on her back. "Come on, Robbie," he added softly, taking the boy around the shoulders with his other arm.

"Stop!" Rachel shouted a few beats later, pulling away from him. She glanced behind him to the others, her eyes resting for a long moment on Bobby. "You can't …" She shivered, looking up at Sam. "You need to cuff me," she breathed, stepping toward him.

Panic built within Sam, nearly exploding at light speed. "What's going on?"

"Please," Rachel begged, holding up her wrists. "I … Just cuff me, and I will explain everything."

Sam's lips parted; he looked around at the others, seeing their solemn expressions. None of them seemed confused or shocked like he was. Whatever he didn't know, he could see they all knew it. "No," he murmured, looking back down at her. "I'm _not_ cuffing you." He glared back at Bobby. "You did your job. They had no right to do this to you."

"You _need_ to cuff me." Rachel lifted her chin, raising her arms.

"Fuck that! I don't care how many vessels you killed!" Sam snapped. He took her and Robbie, marching them away from the others as he kept a tight grip on them both. Neither he nor Rachel were any match for Sam's strength in that moment, Robbie still recovering his power.

"Sammy! Stop!" Rachel begged, digging her heels into the ground. It nearly made Sam fall as she yanked backward against his pull, freeing herself. She panted, tears filling her eyes. "Please. Please just listen to me." She watched as his nostrils widened a little, his jaw ticking. "When …" A chill ran up her back, the words lodging in her throat. "When you were in Atlanta, I … I went to Capitulum Nine."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Capitulum Nine?" he asked, shaking his head.

"In Philadelphia," she explained. "Cas and I went …" Wetting her lips, she took a shaky breath. "For my grace."

"What?" Sam whispered, panic building in his expression with each passing moment. "W-Why?"

"I thought I could … I thought I could help fight Michael." Tears streamed down Rachel's cheeks, running through the drying blood on her face. Sam let go of Robbie, stunned as he swiped at his face, feeling sick. "But something happened," she continued. Just when she thought he couldn't look more confused, he did, his worry deepening. "I … I inadvertently took too much grace. I didn't … I didn't mean to. You have to know that. But the grace I took … Cas said it's from the Apocalypse World. That the essence of the angel is locked in me." She could barely see Sam from the tears in her eyes. "Cas took some of it out, but he couldn't remove it all. It took control of me before this, when I was afraid. And it did it again here." Shaking, she tried to compose herself, but failed. "I don't know when it's happening, or remember any of it after. _That's_ why you need to cuff me. Because I can't be trusted." She broke down, a sob escaping her. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

Sam watched her cry for a moment, stunned by what she told him. His stomach churned, uncertainty whispering in his ears. She had gone behind his back, trying to acquire grace to help fight Michael. Her actions were noble, but the secrecy hurt. Still, hadn't he also deceived her while intending to help her? She was the same woman, the same good person he knew he could trust. His love. She hadn't given up on him when he was plagued by the demon blood. He wouldn't give up on her now.

He blinked hard, not realizing his own tears had fallen until he felt the moisture trail down his face. Jaw set, he dug the cuffs out of his pocket, holding her gaze for a prolonged moment before he threw them down on the ground. "No," he said firmly. "I don't need to cuff you. And you have nothing to be sorry for." He moved to her, taking her into his arms, pressing her to himself. "We will figure this out," he whispered to her, practically feeling Bobby's hard glare on his broad back. "I swear it. You're mine. Always and forever mine." His heart broke at her sobs, trying to soothe her but rapidly failing. He couldn't tell if she was shivering from the cold or shock, but he knew he needed to get her home immediately. Sam scooped her up, carrying her close to his chest as he walked back toward the bunker. Rachel wove her arms around his neck, letting the tears come as she pressed her face into his shirt.

Robbie followed Sam closely, scared for his mother but comforted by Sam's presence. His dad would fix it. His dad could fix anything. He always took care of her, something Robbie witnessed supernaturally from the womb. His dad would make things right. He glanced over his shoulder back at Bobby and Mary, seeing the scowl forming on Bobby's face as he watched. "Mommy didn't mean to," Robbie murmured next to Sam. "She isn't evil."

"I know, buddy," Sam assured, looking down at him.

"This is my fault," Robbie sniffed.

"No, it's not."

"If I didn't go, Mom wouldn't have fought the demons. I was just trying to keep them away."

Sam wet his lips. "You heard them?" Robbie nodded. He could see the burden in Robbie's eyes. " _None_ of this is your fault. None of it. You're not in trouble," he said softly, gaining Robbie's attention. "We'll talk more when we get home, I promise."

Bobby's eyes narrowed a bit as he watched Sam walk away with Rachel and Robbie, letting out a heavy sigh. "Mary," he warned, "this is a mistake."

"Sam believes in her," Mary replied, though her tone wasn't all that confident.

"Yeah, well I've got a whole mess of bodies back there that says she ain't to be trusted."

Mary looked over at him. "She was protecting Robbie."

"Look," Bobby sighed, "I know it's Rachel, but she's got something real powerful in her, something that ain't friendly. Who's to say it ain't gonna take down some hunters out of the blue?"

"She wouldn't do that."

Bobby scoffed. "Of course _she_ wouldn't, but _she_ ain't in control when it happens. Mary, look behind you! I haven't seen angel carnage quite like that even back in my world!"

"She will be fine," Mary insisted firmly, holding Bobby's gaze. "Sam has faith in her, and so do I."

"You mean to tell me you weren't worried about it before Sam showed up?" Bobby challenged, seeing her residual guilt. "You and I both know that letting her be free is asking for trouble."

"What are we supposed to do? Imprison her?"

"Until we find a way to get the grace out, yeah!"

"Castiel said—"

"Castiel ain't strong enough to fight her. So the boy is the only one left who could take her on. You think he'd kill his mother?" He stepped closer to her. "That kind of power shouldn't be wandering free. Otherwise, you're asking for trouble."

Mary squeezed her eyes shut for a hard blink, shifting her focus to the other hunters. "Burn the bodies," she instructed, barely waiting for the hunter's confirmation before she walked away toward the bunker. Deep inside, she knew Bobby was right, that his fears were justified. How could she possibly tell Sam that his future wife was a serious danger he should lock away? Sam would never be prepared for the consequences of Rachel's mistake. He would never take the necessary action Bobby suggested. Neither would Robbie. So what could be done, other than to keep her in the dungeon with wardings?


	83. Chapter 83

"Robbie," Sam said with a sigh as he carried Rachel down the bunker stairs, "can you hang out in your room while I get Mom settled?"

"Sure," Robbie replied quietly, disappearing with a flap of wings.

"Sam, I can walk," Rachel murmured, feeling Sam's grip tighten.

"I know you can," he said, heading for the showers. "I also know you're shaking like a leaf. You're in shock." He knew keeping her close was mostly for his own sake. Knowing what he knew about her carrying grace, he couldn't let her out of his sight. He hadn't yet fully comprehended the idea. Did it change her, aside from the obvious? If she had it since he got back, then he could honestly say it hadn't. Still, it was hard to convince himself to leave her unsupervised.

Inside the showers, Sam quietly focused on stripping off Rachel's bloody layers of clothing as she leaned against the counters. Her skin was pale, her hands cool and clammy as she held onto the edge, letting Sam manipulate her. "I didn't mean it," she whispered as Sam squatted low to draw down her jeans.

Sam paused, glancing up at her. She was staring blankly at the door across from them, her eyes wide. "I know you didn't," he replied gently. He ran his hands over her thighs, feeling how she tensed, and how gooseflesh decorated her skin. Still, she kept her focus on the door, as if she couldn't help but stare at the gruesome scene she saw in her mind's eye. Lowering his hands to her calves, he gently lifted each leg, drawing her jeans off of her and tossing them aside. When her socks were gone, he stood, examining her with fear, she still pale as she stood in her underwear. "Baby," he whispered. He drew in a shaky breath when he caught her attention. "It's okay," he reminded her, his thumb skimming over her chin.

"The way I killed them," Rachel whispered, shaking her head. "How is that okay?"

"They were demons."

"Inside humans," she reminded him, her eyes shutting as she hung her head. "Bobby's right. I'm a monster."

"Stop," Sam ordered, a firmness to his voice she wasn't expecting, bitterness for Bobby's influence also quite present. He held her upper arm in one hand, gently tilting her head up with the other by her chin. "Bobby is wrong. You are _not_ a monster, Rachel," he said, searching her eyes. "And I'm going to do _everything_ I can to help you."

"I thought …" Rachel swallowed, the words failing to surface. "I thought if I could just get my grace …"

Sam reached behind her and turned on the shower, water beating down on the cool floor of the stall as it slowly rose in temperature. "Come on," he urged, nodding to the shower. "This is the first step. I'll be right here if you need anything."

Rachel stared at the water, flashes of memories from the woods seeping through. It was as if the influence in her wanted her to see the horrific moments, and how powerfully sadistic she had been in them. Her lips parted; she couldn't move. Her feet were cemented to the floor, her body chained to her guilt.

Seeing her struggle, Sam let go of her arm, quickly stripping off his own clothes. At any other moment, he would've likely been far more excited to be in the position he was currently in. But there would be nothing sexual about what he was going to do. He had to get her clean, to wash the horror off of her so she could begin to regroup.

Stepping out of his jeans and boxers, Sam unhooked Rachel's bra and drew off her underwear, tossing it all aside before guiding her under the steamy spray of water. Instinctively, Rachel tilted her head back and let the streams beat through her tangled hair as Sam slid the stall door closed. His own hair began to get wet as the spray spread out toward him. Quietly, he soaped a washcloth, tucking Rachel's hair behind her ears before he began to cleanse the dried blood from her skin.

He saw her shiver, and he turned up the heat, continuing his tender cleaning. As he focused on her neck and ears, he saw she was still quivering, realizing the chill could never be fought by hot water. He quickened his pace, trying to get her out of the shower as soon as possible so he could provide her the sanctuary of their room.

Jo's information regarding Dean in Duluth replayed through Sam's head as he scrubbed Rachel clean. It was the best lead they had in nearly a month, one he would likely act on as soon as possible. That would leave Rachel alone. His stomach knotted as he recalled Bobby's scowl when he snatched her away from the hunters. Without him being there, she had few allies. And it seemed as though the other hunters had jumped to conclusions after witnessing the demon massacre. He couldn't blame them. But he also knew Rachel was still herself regardless. And no one would be treating her any differently so long as he was breathing.

When Sam finished washing Rachel's body, he focused on her hair, snagging her lavender shampoo from the shelf and pouring a far too generous amount into his palm. He lathered it into her tresses, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. As his fingers massaged through her scalp, his fears kept mounting. If Castiel had tried to remove the grace but couldn't, there was only one option left—one he knew Rachel wouldn't allow. She had traveled all the way to Philadelphia to get her grace so she could fight Michael. There was zero chance she would purposely drain herself with Michael still at large. And he wasn't sure it would even work-Castiel said grace regenerated, so hers might too. Still, the rogue angel inside of her could surface at any given moment. Or so it seemed. _Maybe it's triggered by fear_ , he thought as he rinsed out the shampoo. Rachel had said it happened before, when she was afraid. Was fear the match that lit the fuse?

Sam gently tilted her head back, rinsing the suds from Rachel's hair, watching the dirt and blood slide out. She was still shaking, so he turned up the heat more, the temperature as hot as he could stand it. It pinkened her skin, though it failed to stop her tremors. With probably too much conditioner, he massaged her hair, his heart wrenching at her pain. "Lean on me," he urged, seeing her not hesitate to press her forehead onto his wet shoulder. It was then he realized she was crying, her soft sniffles nearly buried by the sound of running water. When he was done conditioning her hair, he wrapped her into his arms, his eyes shutting as he heard her sobs grow against his chest. "I got you," he whispered, his stomach sick. "You're mine, remember?"

Rachel didn't respond, her fingertips digging into his wet skin as she clung to him. She barely felt him rinse the conditioning, blacking out the world and reality as she pressed her eyes into his pectoral. She heard his heartbeat, letting the steady drum soothe her, letting the steam and his love envelope her. She wished it was enough to take away her fears, but she knew it wasn't. And it never would be.

At some point, the water shut off, she still buried into Sam's embrace. The glass door slid open, revealing the cloud of humidity the hot water created, adding a haze over the showers. Sam parted from her, gently squeezing out the excess water from her hair before stepping out and snagging all the towels he could find. He ran one over her, wrapping her in another before quickly drying himself off and shaking one through his hair, slinging another around his hips. Sam guided Rachel out of the shower, disregarding the clothes piled into the corner as he led her back to their room.

He shut them inside and he rooted through her clothes for the softest, most comfortable things he could find. He smirked, seeing his sweatpants he loaned her when she had her memory loss folded up at the bottom. He opted for a pair of her black lounge pants and a soft long sleeved t-shirt, plus a delicate cotton bralette and panties. Laying it all out on the bed, he quickly shrugged on boxer briefs, jeans, and a tee shirt for himself so he could focus on dressing her and not having his towel drop unexpectedly. Rachel didn't move, allowing Sam to manipulate her, silent with dread.

When he adjusted her shirt over her waist, he sucked in a deep breath and snatched up her brush, guiding her to sit on the end of the bed. He moved in behind her, grateful his hair was long so he sort of knew what he was doing. Still, she had four times as much as he did, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He began at the ends, happy when the brush glided through her hair with little effort. Working his way up her back, he rested his free hand on her upper arm, contemplating his next move. Undoubtedly, Bobby and probably others wanted her locked up temporarily. The thought enraged him, though he admitting understanding their fears. If he let her be free, there was bound to be a heated argument after. His heart rejected the idea of letting his future wife live in the dungeon until they knew how to help her, but his mind couldn't help but admit that it might be the best course of action. It had enraged him when he saw her in cuffs, though once he caught sight of the massacre, he partially understood why. Still, he knew he wouldn't be able to stand back, knowing she was imprisoned. He could barely stomach the thought.

Rachel felt Sam brushing her hair well beyond what he had to, knowing he was lost in deep thought. She was too, though she knew he wouldn't like her ideas. There was no other choice to be made. She couldn't risk the bunker full of people, including her fiance and her son. "Sam," she said softly; he immediately halted his movements. She exhaled with a sigh as he lowered his hand. "Put me in the dungeon."

Though he had been thinking them himself, the words pierced Sam like a hot knife. "No," he replied firmly, gritting his teeth as he sat behind her.

"You have to," she insisted.

"No," he repeated, a grumble in his tone.

Rachel turned to him, taking the brush from his hand and setting it down beside them on the bed. "Listen to me," she said with a quiet firmness, "you _have_ to. Until we can figure out how to separate the grace, it's not safe for anyone, including our son."

Sam hated that she played that card, but he knew she had a very valid point. He sniffed, shaking his head. "You're insane if you think I'll let you do this."

"You don't 'let' me do anything," she reminded him, eyes narrowing.

"Rachel—"

"No. You need to focus on finding Dean. Your best lead is in Duluth. That's where you need to go."

Shutting his eyes, Sam hung his head. "I can't leave you like this. What kind of a shit move is that?"

"One you need to make," Rachel replied. "I'll be fine. And when you find Dean, we can go from there."

Sam looked up at her. "So in the meantime, you'll live on a cot in an isolated cell covered in wardings," he concluded bitterly.

"Yes."

"There's got to be another way. The extractor—"

"Only worked a little." Rachel took his hand, his immediately surrounding hers. "Sammy, I'll be _fine_."

"You're my _wife_ ," he argued, not caring about the technicality. "I'm not locking you up."

"We locked _you_ up when you were on demon blood," she countered, seeing his irritation at the fact. "When you feared you'd hurt me, you kept yourself imprisoned for weeks. This is no different."

"It is, because _you_ won't dry out." Sam's jaw ticked. "Nothing changes for you by being in the dungeon."

"The others are safe," she reminded him, her tone darkening. "That's what this is for."

Sam knew he would never win the argument. Even if he had valid points, she had decided already. And she would not be swayed. He tightened his fingers around hers, staring down at her small hands. Everything about what he knew was right made him sick, but it had to be done.

He drew her close, resting her on his lap as he gently kissed her, a shudder creeping down his back. His hands found her wet hair, fingers threading through it as he cradled her head, tasting her. His kiss remained light and delicate, but there was a sureness behind it, a promising strength that soothed her. "Whose are you?" he asked after parting from her mouth, his lips brushing against hers.

"Yours," she whispered, her stomach bottoming out at the thought of being alone in the dungeon.

"Good girl," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "Why does this keep happening to you?"

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy," she replied, combing her fingers through his hair as she balanced on his lap.

"This has been beyond difficult. I … I can't help but feel like this is my fault."

"Stop it," Rachel chided. "Stop that right now." She pulled back, still holding his head as she looked into his eyes. "Getting my grace back was _my_ choice. Just like this is _my_ choice to isolate myself. Just like Michael being in Dean isn't your fault. Dean made a choice." She blew out a breath. "God, Sammy. You're shouldering so much. If you keep it up, you'll have a heart attack at 35, no matter how much kale you eat." Attempting to lighten the mood, she smiled a little, brushing his wet hair behind his ear.

Her smile did little to comfort him, and she could see that. He was quiet for a long moment, staring pensively down at her shoulder as he thought. She watched him, seeing the sadness in his eyes. "When this is over," he began softly, still looking down, "I'm taking you and Robbie somewhere. Like, a beach. Or the mountains. Anywhere but Lebanon." His eyes met hers; they were glassy. "And if only for a little bit, it'll just be us. No … world-ending crisis. No plagues, no battles. Just you, me, and our son." He smirked. "Maybe we'll never come back."

Rachel's heart clenched at his sadness. "Deal," she whispered, cupping his face. He turned toward her palm, kissing it tenderly. "Just us."

Sam wrapped her in a hug, pressing her close as he began to sort the details in his mind. He trusted Castiel and Rick to look after Robbie, and to be the primary watch for Rachel. Rick was the only hunter who seemed slightly more empathetic toward her when he first came to the scene. He had to make the wardings on the dungeon strong, which would leave Castiel unable to help her, and Robbie unable to teleport to her. He knew his son would want to, despite the potential for danger. He'd bring Bobby and Mary with him to Duluth, knowing Jack would help with Robbie too.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam sighed. Lavender filled his nose, the scent both comforting and painful. "I won't be long," he whispered against her.

"You be as long as you need to," she whispered back.

"Dean might …" Sam swallowed hard. "Dean might not be able to …"

"Dean's a fighter, Sammy. And you're going to bring him back alive and well."

Sam pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead before he helped her stand. Rachel could see he still wasn't fully convinced about the arrangements, noting the way his nostrils flared like when he was irritated or angry. "I'll go fix the cot," he murmured, shutting the door a little harder than necessary on his way out.

Rachel looked at the closed door, swallowing. Her fears rose to the surface, the idea of being alone making her nervous. How long would she be isolated? Would she go insane? "Guess we'll find out," she sighed.

* * *

Robbie looked up at his room door, brow wrinkling as he heard the thoughts of his father. "Come in," he said quietly, immediately frightened of the burden Sam carried. He had made the choice to lock his mother up. From what Robbie heard, he knew it wasn't an easy decision. It was still one that made him both nervous and angry. "Why are you locking Mom up?" he blurted out as Sam shut the door.

Sam sighed, sitting next to Robbie on his bed. "It was Mom's choice, not mine." He looked to his son. "We're going to find a way to help her," he vowed. "I promise you." Sam swallowed, examining Robbie. "I'm so sorry, Robbie. I should never have lost patience like that with you."

Robbie shrugged, looking down at the dinosaur comforter on his bed. "It's okay."

"No," Sam corrected gently, taking Robbie's hand, "it's not." He shut his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. "I wish I could take you and Mom away somewhere. Somewhere where we could just be a family." His fingers on his free hand found Robbie's hair, combing through it. "I want to be a family more than you'll ever know. In fact, it's all I ever wanted, even when I was your age."

Eyes wide, Robbie smiled. "You grew fast like me?"

Sam chuckled. "No, uh … No. I meant when I was like you are now." He examined his son. "How old do you think you are?"

"Hmm." Robbie thought as Sam lowered his hand from his hair. "Probably like sixteen, at least."

With a laugh, Sam shook his head. "Nice try."

"I can grow, Dad," Robbie reminded him. "Then I can help find Uncle Dean and then we can be a family!"

The boy's logic was sound, but the idea of missing his son's childhood made him ill. "No. I need you just the way you are."

Robbie groaned, folding his arms over his chest. "But I'm no good like a kid," he pouted.

"You're perfect like this," Sam corrected.

Flopping backward onto his bed, Robbie sighed. "I'm not," he insisted. "And you're just saying that because you like me as a kid." He stopped, his eyes meeting Sam's. "Does that mean you won't like me as a grown up?"

Sam pulled his son to sit up, shaking his head. "That's not what that means at all," he replied with a gentle firmness. "It means that, Mommy and I dreamt about seeing you grow up, getting to see all the ages, watching you become a young man. It's something parents look forward to when they have kids."

"Are you and Mommy gonna have another kid?"

Clearing his throat, Sam tried to respond, suddenly feeling lost as Robbie looked at him expectantly. "No," he finally said. "We … we won't right now."

"But maybe someday?" Robbie asked hopefully. "Then I can have a little brother!"

Dumbfounded, Sam wet his lips. "We, uh …" Drawing in a deep breath, he sighed. "Having another baby right now isn't a good idea," he said gently. "There's a lot going on, and I need you and Mommy safe." He paused. "So you heard the demons?" he asked, hoping to switch gears.

"Uh-huh."

"What did they say?"

"They said they wanted me 'cause I was a prince or something. They said you made them mad."

Sam nodded. "What else?"

Robbie shrugged. "Guess that's it."

"Why did you go after them alone?" Sam watched Robbie pinch at his blanket, waiting patiently. "It's too dangerous to go alone. Remember how we had to get Uncle Cas back?"

"Uh-huh," Robbie muttered. His lips pursed for a moment. "But I'm stronger than Uncle Cas!" he sighed. "I can fight!"

"I know you are strong," Sam said gently. "I also know that going alone isn't safe. And I also know that if you want to fight, you have to listen to the rules. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," Robbie murmured.

Sam drew Robbie close, wrapping him in a hug. "I love you," he reminded him, stroking his back. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Sorry, Dad," Robbie said against his chest. He pulled back, his expression shifting quickly. "Guess what? I crushed them with my hand!" His grin widened, eyes lighting up. "I went like this—" He clenched his hand into a fist. "Then boom! They blew up! Like poof! Disappeared! It was awesome!"

Sam couldn't help but smile at Robbie's excitement, wondering just how his son managed to kill the demons so easily. "I bet it was."

"Yeah, but it made me kinda sleepy," Robbie added. "I still feel sleepy."

Picking Robbie up, Sam laid the boy down on the bed, another worry growing as he took off his son's sneakers and tucked him in. Did he drain himself? How long would it take him to recharge? Did he use his power in a way he wasn't yet strong enough to without consequence? "I want you to get some rest," he said, carefully drawing the covers over Robbie. "You used a lot of your power today. I need you feeling strong for the team, okay?"

Robbie smiled, excited about the prospect of helping his father. "Yes, sir." He paused as Sam straightened. "What about Mommy?"

Sam's jaw ticked. "Mommy will be just fine," he assured. "She needs to rest too. We are going to help her, you and me. Okay?"

Robbie nodded. "Yes, sir. When can I go see her?"

"Not right now. Soon, though." Sam could see Robbie's vivid disappointment, though he didn't seem like he was going to argue the point. "I love you. Get some sleep."

"Love you, Dad."

Sam kissed his son's forehead, sighing as he straightened and flicked the light off on the way out of the boy's room.

Shutting the door quietly behind himself, Sam closed his eyes, the full weight of his burdens returning. He glanced to the right, toward where his and Rachel's room was, then headed in the opposite direction for the medical bay to gather a cot and linens. It was time to lock up his future wife.


	84. Chapter 84

**It's been crazy around my parts, sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

* * *

 ** _S14 E2 "Gods And Monsters" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episodes, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

It was a few days later when Sam miraculously returned with Dean, who was seemingly unharmed and mentally sound. A huge weight had been lifted off everyone's shoulders, though the reason for Michael's mysterious departure was still unknown. However, Dean's return was a bright spot in the bustle of the bunker, Sam having informed some lead hunters as they drove home.

Sam neglected to tell Dean about Rachel, though, which he knew wouldn't sit well with his brother once he heard about it all. He didn't really know where to begin. He knew Dean would assume guilt for Rachel's condition once he learned about the reason behind it. So, he delayed the reveal, telling himself that it was for Dean's benefit. Besides, the depth or intricacies of what was happening to Rachel couldn't be easily explained, even on a ten hour car ride. Well, maybe they could, but he didn't really want to. He was still processing it himself.

Sam released a heavy sigh as he looked toward the hall. Dean has retreated to his room, so the coast looked clear. He wet his lips, glancing back at the others. "Don't …" He exhaled in defeat. "Don't tell Dean about Rachel."

Castiel and Jack looked at Sam hesitantly. "He should know," Castiel countered.

"Not right now."

"It will …" Castiel cleared his throat. "It will be a little hard to keep her condition from him."

Sam's brow arched. "Her 'condition?'"

"She's not well," Jack admitted.

"What do you mean, 'not well?'"

Jack swallowed as Sam took a step toward him. "The burden of the grace is affecting her mind."

"Cas?!" Sam asked, looking at Castiel expectantly.

"Her faculties are mostly intact," Castiel said slowly, "but it seems as though the angel has been trying to chip away at her."

"How?"

"Her … She's been hallucinating. She hasn't eaten hardly at all. We think the angel is trying to get her to comply through force."

"'Comply?'"

"With a full take over."

Sam scoffed, his stomach turning as he saw Castiel's face unchanged. "Cas, how in the hell could it take over? If it's only part of her—"

"Grace regenerates, which means it grows," Castiel reminded. "Her 'possession,' if you will, is a lot like when Gadreel bound you. He grew stronger using your energies to shield him."

"But she wasn't possessed."

"Clearly, the angel's grace in Rachel has the same ability. Because it's from the alternate world, there's no way to tell the actual levels of power it holds. It's not like grace from here. It's a whole new animal. Which means Michael could be the same, or similar."

Sam's nostrils flared as he listened, his hands tightening into fists. "Where's Robbie?"

"Out with Rick on a supply run."

"Has he—"

"No. We've kept him from her."

Swiping his hand over his face, Sam drew in a sharp breath through his nose. "I'm going to go see her," he decided, not giving Castiel or Jack any time to respond.

Castiel watched, a heaviness filling him. He couldn't possibly have told Sam about her before he got back. All he would've done was panic. Glancing to Jack, Castiel sighed. "We need to—"

"Prepare for the worst," Jack concluded.

Castiel's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

Jack sighed. "Well … If we need to, we need to do what is best, right?"

He knew what Jack was implying. "She's _not_ going to die. We aren't going to kill her." Castiel held up his hand before Jack could interrupt. "We aren't."

Angrily, Castiel left for the library, Jack watching with a burdened heart. He loved Rachel like an aunt, but was she really Rachel still? Would she ever be again?

* * *

Sam yanked at his hair with a sharp exhale as he approached the dungeon. It was eerily silent, which only put Sam more on edge. "Rachel?" he called out as he neared the doorway. Nothing. _Maybe she's sleeping._

Resting his hand on the door mechanism, Sam opened the dungeon after a brief moment of hesitation. The doors made a groaning sound that seemed to fill the space. He peered in, seeing Rachel sitting up on the cot, her back to him. To his left rested a full plate of food, seemingly untouched. "Baby girl," he said gently in an exhale, leaving the dungeon door open as he moved to the cot. His brow wrinkled as she remained unmoved.

Pulse quickening, he walked around to the other side of the bed, taking a good look at her. She had changed into leggings and a sweater that nearly swallowed her whole. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, her legs folded under herself as she seemingly stared at the floor in front of her. The space heaters were off; Sam instantly grew more worried as he felt the chill of the air surround them. "Sweetheart," he softly begged, kneeling in front of her, trying to search her eyes, "please. Please talk to me."

It was a long moment before Rachel finally answered, still not looking at him. "I'm not doing this again," she replied flatly.

 _Hallucinations._ "Baby, I promise, it's me. It's Sam."

She scoffed. "Sure."

He took her hands; they were like ice. Freeing one, he flicked on the space heaters, then recovered her hand with his. "It is," he urged. Sighing, he ran his thumb over her skin as the hot air flowed toward them. She felt her shiver, though he knew she was trying to suppress it. "I know how hard it is to believe me right now, but I need you to."

"Why should I?" Rachel asked, meeting his eyes. "The last time I did, you laughed in my face."

"That wasn't me. This is." Sam could finally see her eyes fully—they looked tired, worn. Her skin was pale, the usual vibrancy gone. "You need to eat," he concluded, his mind racing in a hundred different directions as he stood and went to get her plate.

"Not hungry," she said, making him stop midway.

Sam turned back to her, trying to think of his next move. He kept drawing blanks, pleading with himself to come up with an answer. "You can't fix me, even if you were Sam," Rachel interrupted with a sigh, as if she read his mind. Did she?

"There's a way," Sam insisted, though his confidence faded each time he looked at her.

Rachel scoffed, looking over at him. "Please," she whispered, almost as if she was pleading, "please just … just stop." The way she regarded him reminded him of when Lucifer took her memories of their relationship. "I've done what you asked. I just … Can't we just coexist?"

Sam lifted his chin a little in realization. She wasn't addressing him. She was talking to the angel. "What have you done?" he asked quietly.

"No heat, no food, no fighting." Rachel shook her head. "I've been doing it for days. I'm starving. I'm freezing. You keep showing me maggots in my food, Sam's bloody face, and telling me you'll kill my son if I turn on the heat. Then you do this-you taunt me." With a growl, she pushed to her feet, flicking off the heater as she paced away. "I don't understand why." She turned, looking him over as he slowly stepped closer. "I didn't invite you in, so I don't even know how you're able to control me the way you are. And by the way, I'll _never_ invite you in. But I can agree to coexisting quietly if you just … _stop."_

Sam sniffed, softly nodding his head. Even though it had only been a few days, she had been through hell. And it killed him. He had to find a way to get her out of the angel's grip, but he barely knew what he was dealing with.

Looking her over, he decided to impulsively take action. Crossing the gap, he took Rachel into his arms, capturing her mouth in his before she could protest. She tasted sweet and cold, her soft lips retaining a chill from the air around them. Still, they were familiar and comforting. He felt her resist a little, and he kept her to himself, continuing to kiss her. "This is real," he whispered between, catching his breath before dipping back down and kissing her again. "I'm real. And you're not going to listen to the angel anymore." Sam pulled back just enough to look in her eyes, cupping her face. "I am real. Believe that. Now, whose are you?" he asked, waiting for her answer. "Whose, baby girl?"

Rachel shivered, blinking slowly as she looked up at him. "Yours," she whispered, seemingly stunned. "You …" She swallowed hard, reaching up and stroking his beard. "You're not …"

Sam was more than relieved when Rachel burst into tears and pressed herself to his chest. "Shh," he whispered, his heart clenching at her pain. His grip was tight, sure. "I got you, baby girl." He tightened his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair as he soothed her.

"Sam." Rachel squeezed her hands around his shirt. "It's power is so strong. Sometimes it just takes over. For no reason."

Petting her head, Sam chewed on his lip as he rested his chin in her hair. "We need to enact some kind of suppression," he decided.

"Or, we need to cut out my grace."

"No," Sam objected firmly. "We don't know if that will be lethal. I'm not taking that risk."

"Jack survived."

"He might be the exception, not the rule."

Rachel pulled back. "It's a band aid on a bullet hole otherwise."

Sam shook his head. "It's not happening. The extractor will _kill_ you."

She let go of him, turning away as she shut her eyes. "This is my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid and gone to Philadelphia, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"You went to help save Dean," Sam reminded her gently. "That's not stupid."

"Dean," she murmured. Rachel whirled around with realization, eyes wide. "Is he …?"

Sam allowed himself a small smile. "Yeah. He's okay."

Lips parting, Rachel shook her head. "How did you kill Michael?"

"We, uh, we didn't," Sam admitted, sighing. "He was gone when we found Dean."

"'Gone?'"

"Yeah. Left the vessel."

"... Why?"

"Not sure." Sam approached her, taking her hands. "You're not staying down here another minute," he decided. "How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since you left," Rachel replied softly, her fingers tightening around his.

His nostrils flared, his anger stirring at himself for letting her sequester herself in the first place. "No more."

"Sam," Rachel said, stopping him as he tried to lead her to the door, "I can't. It's not safe."

"Cas said he can help you control this," Sam insisted. He shook his head as she tried to object. "No," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Come on. Dean will be ecstatic to see you."

"Do you think this is wise?" Rachel countered, more than afraid.

Sam didn't have an answer. Somewhere in his head, he knew her caution was warranted. But he couldn't stand seeing her tormented. He had to take action. Snatching up her phone and taking her hand, he led her to the door in silence, opening it and ushering her out, unwilling to loosen his grip on her hand. He would find a way to extract the angel's hold. Or he'd die trying.

Outside of the dungeon, Sam turned and fiddled with the bolt to lock the door. "Feel better? Without the wardings?" he asked, keeping his focus on the iron.

Ahead of him with her back to him, Rachel felt a shiver run up her back. It stopped her in her tracks, though Sam didn't seem to notice as he bolted the dungeon shut. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked hard, her eyes flashing a vibrant blue. A small smile curved her lips just as the blue disappeared. "Much."


	85. Chapter 85

**_It's been half of forever! Yikes!_**

 ** _Break time is over. lol Leave me a review if you enjoy the story! :)_**

* * *

 ** _S14 E2 "Gods And Monsters" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I named some unnamed people from the episodes, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

The clatter stopped nearly immediately when the other hunters spotted Rachel next to Sam as he led her into the maps room. Concern was evident on everyone's faces, though Sam wasn't entirely sure if it was empathetic or fearful. His hand tightened around Rachel's as he walked a few more steps with her, pausing with an exhale as Bobby came forward. The grizzled hunter wore a scowl that left Sam no doubt of his feelings about his choice. "What are you doing, boy?" he asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Sam wet his lips, squaring his shoulders. The challenge irked him, but he drew in a cleansing breath. "Giving my fiancée freedom and sanity."

Mary came to the front of the gathered people, hesitant as she looked at Sam. "Sam, this is—"

"Look," Sam snapped, turning to her, "no one has to like it. But it's my choice." He looked up to the others, eyeing them. "And I strongly suggest that those opposed reconsider their place here. This is my future wife. She's not a monster. And no one is going to treat her like one. Got it?"

The hunters ducked their gazes away, some giving small nods of agreement while others spoke in soft murmurs as they left. "Come on, Mary," Bobby said, holding Sam's gaze for a long moment before guiding Mary toward the storage rooms. "Let's go finish racking the supplies."

Sam's nostrils flared as he watched, his pulse failing to slow despite Rachel's gentle stroking on his arm. "Sam, I can't come in between you and these hunters," she objected quietly, catching the unsure gazes of some as they walked away. "You need them."

"Maybe," Sam replied, still tense. "But they need to respect you more." He looked down at her. "Anyone who stays needs to treat you like a human being. Because that's what you are."

Rachel's hand loosened from his arm, falling to her side. "They have a right to be afraid. I'm a full powered nephilim. I barely know who I am right now."

"You're you," Sam countered.

"Me with foreign grace influencing me," she countered back. "Sam, you can't fault them for their reservations. Not when I have my own."

"So, what—you want me to leave you in the dungeon to be tortured by the angel in you?" Sam scoffed. "Obviously without the wardings, the angel is dormant for now. Probably because it doesn't feel threatened. But otherwise? You're the one suffering from lack of food and heat and rest. So yeah, I'm going to choose the obvious answer, which is to let you eat and sleep."

Rachel's lips parted to speak as Sam moved away, but her voice closed involuntarily. She hesitated, swallowing to wet her dry throat. Again, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. Rachel watched as Sam busied himself on his laptop, looking at the latest algorithms while she began to panic. Wetting her lips, she took a step toward him, freezing when she felt a cool rush overcome her. Her eyes shut, and she shivered.

"You okay?"

Opening her eyes, Rachel narrowed her gaze at Sam, observing how he watched her. "Yeah," she said, giving a small smile. "Fine. I'm, uh, going to get changed."

Sam watched as Rachel left, brow drawn. His gut screamed at him that something wasn't right. Still, he fought it, telling himself she was just scared, and her fear was rubbing off on him. There was no reason for either of them to be afraid.

With a suddenness that startled Sam, Robbie flashed into the room. His dark hair was rumpled, his forehead creased, matching his wrinkled AC/DC tee shirt and jeans. "Dad!" he said, panicking. "I can feel Mom!"

Sam stood with a nod. "I know," he assured gently, taking his shoulder. "I let her out."

"But …" The boy was clearly confused. "But Bobby said—"

"Look, I don't care what Bobby said," Sam interrupted. "Your mom can't stay down there."

Robbie's concerned expression mirrored Sam's own worries. "So," he began slowly, swallowing, "how are we gonna fix her?"

Sam sniffed, letting Robbie's shoulder go. "I'm not sure yet. But I could use some help."

A small smile curved Robbie's mouth. "I'm on it."

* * *

Pressing her hand flat against the cold concrete, Rachel paused in the hallway on her way to hers and Sam's room as a searing pain struck her temples. She winced, biting down her molars against the assault. Angel radio, she thought remorsefully, not even remotely interested in what was being said. She wasn't even sure if she could trust it, at this point. Still, her power left her with no choice.

As the ringing grew louder, she sank to her knees, her palm scraping down the wall as she descended. Her body landed with a clumsy thud, which caught Dean's attention as he was headed toward the kitchen. He rounded the corner, eyes widening as he saw her curling into herself, lips parted in silent, yet agonizing pain. "Rach!" Dean rushed toward her, supporting her as she clung to his rolled up shirt sleeve. "Easy," he urged, perplexed. "What's going on?"

Rachel sucked in a breath, Dean's frantic tone and movements not easing the pressure. "I'm fine. It's just … angel radio," she managed, swaying a little.

Dean steadied her. "You still have juice from when Robbie was born?" he asked. "Wow."

Brow furrowed, Rachel looked up, finally realizing who was holding her. "Dean," she whispered, her eyes clouding with tears.

"Yeah, kiddo," he smiled softly. "It's me." Guiding her to stand, Dean held her to his side as he walked her to her room.

"But … Michael … and … and how—" Rachel was stopped as another blow struck her temple.

Dean hoisted her up, keeping her from falling. "Shh, easy," he urged. "Plenty of time for that." He took a glance down the hall. "Where's the bearded Sasquatch?"

"Maps … room."

Dean grunted, throwing open the door to hers and Sam's room. "What the hell happened in here?" he asked, examining the partially broken night table and empty beer bottles.

Rachel's brow arched. "Uh, I … have no idea."

"What the hell do you mean? You sleep in here."

Sitting on the unmade bed, Rachel sighed, relieved the incessant ringing was easing up. She rubbed above her brows. "I haven't slept in here in a while."

Dean's lips parted. He took a step back, rubbing at his chin. "Oh … I, uh …" He cleared his throat. "You two, uh, aren't …" He waved his hand around, pursing his lips as he looked at her expectantly.

Wrinkling her nose, Rachel scoffed. "No, dufus. It's just that I've been in the dungeon. Precautionary measures until we figure things out."

Dean's mouth gaped. "Okay, I'm even more confused."

"About … what?"

"About what the hell you need to figure out that has you sleeping in the dungeon."

"Living."

"... Sorry, what?" Dean put his hands on his hips.

"I've been living in there," Rachel corrected. "Sam must've told you."

Dean stared down at her for a long moment. "Okay," he said with a small nod. A moment later, he looked over his shoulder. "Sam!" he shouted, making Rachel jump. "Get your ass over here now!"

Rachel listened as Sam's heavy footfalls drew closer, seeing him appear a few moments later. He sucked in a breath, clearly needing it from running. "What's wrong?!" he asked, moving to Rachel at the foot of the bed. He sat beside her, examining her. "You okay?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'm fine," she murmured, drinking in his touch. "Just … angel radio."

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!" Dean shouted behind them. Sam turned to his brother, seeing his angry expression.

"What do you mean?" he asked, standing slowly.

Dean took a step closer. "Why has she been living in the fucking dungeon?!"

Sam wet his throat, holding up a hand. "I can explain—"

"I swear to God, Sam," Dean growled, moving in, "she's the closest damn thing I have to a sister. If you so much as gave her a papercut—"

"What?!" Sam gasped. "You think I'd hurt her?!"

"Why was she down there?"

"Easy," Rachel urged quietly, holding her hand up as she stood and moved between the brothers, raising both arms, her palms flat toward each one as she created space between them. "Sam," she murmured, watching his jaw tick with his tension, "you didn't … tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Dean growled, moving back toward Sam, side stepping Rachel's hand.

Sam drew Rachel away from Dean, his breaths coming in quick pants through his nose. He knew Dean would never hurt Rachel, but he wasn't so sure about whether he would hurt him after he told him her dilemma. Sam wet his lips, feeling Rachel's body heat warm his side. "Some things happened while you were gone."

"What kind of 'things?'"

"We spent weeks looking for you. And …" Sam wet his lips. "I followed a lead in Atlanta alone." He glanced to Rachel. "Rachel and Castiel went to Philadelphia on another lead." He held her gaze, as if to silently tell her not to object to his version of the story. "She and Cas weren't given a choice. Rachel was forced to consume her grace against her will." Sam glanced back at Dean, seeing his furrowed brow.

Dean looked between Sam and Rachel, unconvinced Sam's story was the full truth. "So, she went looking for a lead, and they … who?"

"The same people who took her grace."

"Right. So they just happened to be where she was, and have her juice handy?"

As Sam went to reply, Rachel shook her head. "No," she interrupted.

"Rachel—" Sam warned.

"I went to Philadelphia behind Sam's back," she continued, holding firm, "because Cas found a lead on my grace. I thought if I had it …" She drew in a deep breath. "I am our last hope against Michael. They got our scent as soon as we left the bunker, I guess. But, we were able to get it."

Dean gritted his molars together. "So, you went out on a hunch that you wouldn't die from taking your grace?"

"It was our best option," Rachel shot back, growing defensive. "And it didn't do anything to me anyway."

"Then why were you in the dungeon?" he asked. Rachel paused, knowing Dean saw her hesitation. "Right. So," he continued, "what did it do to you?"

"Nothing," she replied, holding her hand up as he went to object. " _My_ grace didn't do anything. … I consumed other grace by accident."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Rachel nipped at her bottom lip. "I am hosting the grace of an Apocalypse World angel."

Silence spread between them, thick and oppressive. Rachel watched Dean, seeing his face shifting as he processed the information. "What has it done to you?" he finally asked, his voice softened.

"It hasn't—"

"Tell me," he interrupted, looking into her eyes.

Rachel felt ice flow through her veins with her dread. Dean was already blaming himself for her predicament, she could tell. "Dean—"

" _Tell me_."

"It … It takes control sometimes." Rachel swallowed. "The others are afraid of me, after what I did to the demons."

"What demons?"

"The ones who were after Robbie. I … I slaughtered them all."

"So? They're demons!"

"They're people too, Dean," she reminded him.

Running a hand over his face, Dean drew in a deep breath. "Has it hurt you? The angel?"

"Not … It just … It's ..." Her failure to reply shifted Dean's mood. He backed up, guilt clearly tainting his expression. "This isn't your fault," she urged, moving closer to him.

"The hell it isn't," Dean grumbled.

"Dean—"

"How do we fix it?" Dean demanded to Sam, holding his brother's gaze.

"I'm working on it," Sam replied softly.

"I want everyone on this," Dean barked, his pulse rising. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you be a ticking time bomb."

"You don't think I've lost sleep on this?" Sam scoffed, angry. He stepped closer, adrenaline pumping at Dean's assumption. "Dean, if we extract it with the tool, she _dies_. Cas already tried it. And I've been looking everywhere for a spell strong enough to either get it out or suppress it. I don't have shit right now, or I'd be doing it."

Rachel flicked her eyes between the two brothers, their silent standoff more than concerning. "Okay," she exhaled softly, moving to stand between them, "let's just all take a breath, alright?" She watched them each look away from the other, Sam drawing in a cleansing breath, shutting his eyes. "Right now, we need to focus on locating Michael." With a pause for a swallow, she continued. "And I might be able to help using angel radio. The Apocalypse angel might communicate with him."

"And let Michael know you're juiced up with one of his own," Dean scoffed.

"I have no doubt he already knows that I've got grace," Rachel retorted.

"Yeah, _yours_. Not his alternate world buddy's."

"He's right," Sam added. "It's too dangerous."

Rachel shook her head. "But if we can-"

"No," he interrupted, looking down at her. "We'll … We'll find another way."

It was Rachel's turn for tense silence, shaking her head at Sam. "It's the best way," she grumbled.

"We can have Cas do his mind thing on me," Dean decided. "Maybe seeing some of the stuff that happened can help."

Sam nodded, watching Dean leave the room. He could feel Rachel's angry glare to his left, his glance down to her confirming it. "Baby girl-"

"It's stupid, Sam," she growled. "You'll let Dean's head get examined, but you won't let me use the power I intended to use for us?"

"It's unpredictable," Sam argued. "We don't know if the angel will decide to take over. Because if it does, then you're at risk."

"I can't sit around here and do nothing!"

"You won't," Sam assured, taking her biceps into his hands. His thumbs ran over her sweater covered flesh soothingly. "You _will_ help. Just not this way."

Rachel sighed heavily, shaking her head. Without a word, she left the room, Sam closing his eyes in defeat as he wet his lips. He couldn't risk his fiancee like that. He wouldn't. But he knew she would.

"Dammit," he grumbled, stalking after her. He whipped out his phone, firing off a text:

 **I need your help. It's urgent.**

Sam rolled his eyes when he read the response:

 **More urgent than the world ending?**

With a deep breath, he replied:

 **Right now, yes. It's Rachel.**

Sam waited a few moments, the text not coming in right away. There was a sense of hesitation. Still, he exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding when he read the reply:

 **I'm on my way.**


	86. Chapter 86

Tucking his phone away, Sam paused as he came into the kitchen. Rachel was hesitant as she held Robbie close, smoothing his thick hair while looking across to Bobby, who stood near Castiel, nearly done with a beer. Dean was in the process of popping the top off of a fresh beer for himself, sighing contentedly after he drew a long swig. Jack sat at the table, eating a sandwich, looking between everyone, the concern more than evident in his eyes.

With a sniff, Sam cleared his throat. Bobby was going to have to deal. "Find anything, buddy?" he asked his son in a quiet, gentle tone as he took the boy's shoulder.

"Not really. Just some voodoo that's not really stable," Robbie sighed. "I still need to go through the later research though. There are some mythologies I want to check too."

Dean laughed softly. "Kid's something else. He told me he grew that much in three weeks."

Sam looked up at him with a little grin. "He had some spurts. But he could grow as fast as Jack did."

"But he doesn't need to," Rachel added, her suggestive tone more than obvious to Robbie, who exhaled and rolled his eyes a little.

"I know, I know," Robbie muttered.

"You know," Bobby said, his voice cutting through everything, "Robbie's quite the hunter already. Smart kid. Growing might not be such a bad idea, given that we ain't got Jack's power anymore."

"No," Rachel growled, interrupting Sam as he was ready to speak. Sam looked at her, seeing a darkness in her eyes. Considering her circumstances, it worried him. "He's not going anywhere near this fight with Michael."

"You think that's wise?" Bobby challenged, eyes narrowing. "You're putting him at a disadvantage not letting him develop his full power."

"Robbie is a child."

"A demon blood nephilim."

"He's our son."

"And there's a whole lotta people who could benefit from him. Not to mention, he could keep himself safe."

Seeing Robbie's interest piqued, Rachel shook her head, not letting him or Sam speak. "Not happening," she said firmly, holding Bobby's gaze.

With an annoyed huff, Bobby finished his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash, leaving the kitchen past Jack, who took a small bite of his sandwich. "He keeps pushing," Rachel grumbled, her remark only audible to Sam.

"He's trying to find a way to win this war," Sam reasoned, thinking about what he had said to Robbie while he was driving to Atlanta. There had been so much chaos that the topic hadn't even surfaced in his mind until just then. "And in a way, he's not wrong."

Rachel scoffed. "Are you serious? I'm trying to keep our son alive!"

"So am I," Sam replied, his tone raising a little. "I'm not saying he'd fight Michael. I'm just saying that he would be safer if he grew his powers for himself."

"So, you want him to grow up?"

"No!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, drawing in a breath and releasing it with a huff. He felt his brother's, Castiel's, and Jack's eyes locked on him from across the room. "I want Robbie to be safe," Sam said softly. "I want him to have a way to defend himself."

"He's studying," Rachel replied, her tone firm. "And he's flexed his powers enough with Cas."

"Not to his full potential."

"Well, he's been doing combat with Daniel and the others," Jack added with a slight mouthful, meaning only to help but partially realizing his intrusion after he spoke.

"Dude," Dean murmured, cocking a brow as he took a drink of his beer.

Castiel cleared his throat, giving Jack a look of warning. "He … He has," Castiel added, Rachel's glare throwing him off guard.

"Oh really?" she asked, arching her brow.

"Just … uh … some small things …"

"Don't worry, Mom. It's not like Uncle Cas has even let me do anything good lately," Robbie argued with annoyance. "I've mostly just been packing bullets and reading. Any dork can do that."

Rachel looked down at him. "Well, that's what you'll keep doing."

Robbie's brow wrinkled. "But Mom!" he whined. "I'm strong! No one here has beaten me yet. Bobby says I'm a warrior."

"Robbie, you're _not_ fighting," Rachel repeated.

"Dad said while you were in Philadelphia that I could go on hunts!"

Lips parted, Rachel looked up to Sam, whose jaw ticked as he saw her anger. "He said what?" she asked.

Dean whistled softly, looking away. "Oooh boy." He cleared his throat. "Hey, uh … Jack. Cas. Let's go … uh … see that thing in the library."

"What thing?" Jack asked, oblivious as he bit into his sandwich, shifting his focus from Sam and Rachel to Dean.

"The thing. You know, the one I was telling you about." Dean rolled his eyes when he saw Jack's blank stare. "Oh, come on." He moved to Jack and pulled him to stand.

"But I didn't finish my sandwich," Jack protested as Dean ushered him and Castiel out.

"Robbie," Sam said softly. "I need you to go wait with Uncle Dean."

Robbie wanted to listen, but he knew better than to test either of his parents in that moment. "Yes, sir," he replied, flapping away a moment later.

Sam wet his lips as Rachel stared up at him. The venom she felt was more than obvious. "I …" He blew out a breath. "Yes, I told Robbie he could start training to hunt."

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was trying to avoid making the same mistakes my father did with me," Sam defended.

"And you didn't think it was important to tell me?" Rachel asked in disbelief.

"Things kinda got sidetracked when I came back from Atlanta."

"You made a decision like that without me." Rachel's hand balled up at her side. "That's not acceptable."

Sam ran his tongue behind his teeth. "I'm doing what's best for him."

"Oh really?" Rachel put her hands on her hips. "So, making decisions about our son's welfare alone is fine?"

"No. I should've … I should've told you sooner."

"You're damn right you should've. But what you really should've done is talked to me first."

Sam scoffed. "Just like you talked to me about Philadelphia?"

Rachel's mouth hung open. "Are you serious?"

"I'm just saying, I'm not the only one keeping secrets."

Shaking her head, Rachel glared at him. "You know what? You're right. I kept a secret. Know _why_ I even had to _had_ a secret to begin with?" She stepped closer, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. "Because of _you_ , Sam. You should've been with me to get my grace. If you had actually taken your head out of your ass long enough, we might've had a _real_ conversation about things. Then I wouldn't have had to go without you. Maybe then I wouldn't have taken Apocalypse Grace, because _you_ would've had my back, like I've had yours for eight months, now!"

Sam put his hands on his hips. "So, what — because I don't want you doing something potentially suicidal, I'm the bad guy now?" Sam asked indignantly.

"You're the 'bad guy' now because you wouldn't even discuss it with me in the first place," she corrected with a spat.

"Because what _you_ wanted to do would end badly. And it _did_."

"It might not have if you had my back!"

"I _do_ have your back!"

"Then stop controlling us!" Rachel shouted challengingly. "Just because you're the 'Chief' to everyone doesn't mean you get to decide what I do every waking moment. It means you do what is best for the team." She gritted her teeth. "And what's best for _our_ team is for you to _listen_ and _let go._ Because sometimes _,_ what's best isn't what _you_ want."

"I can't!" Sam yelled, yanking at his hair as he broke away from her, pacing toward the sink. "I _can't_ let go, Rachel." He whirled around to face her. "Because every time I let go, you get hurt. Every time I put you out there, I'm begging to lose you. And now, you've got an angel inside of you who could kill you to satisfy Michael. So should I put you on the frontlines and just 'cut my losses?'" He scoffed. "And with Robbie, every time our son used his powers, his enemies draw closer. So, what — do I keep him weak? Or let him defend himself?" He walked a bit closer to her. "There's a price to everything. To keeping both of you safe. All I know is, I won't pay it with your blood or his blood."

Rachel's nostrils flared a little as she eyed him in heated silence for a long moment. "You promised me eight months ago this wouldn't happen anymore," she finally said softly, her voice breaking a little. "You said … You said on your message you wanted to talk. You said you were done."

"That was before I knew you were poisoned with rogue grace," Sam countered. "That was when you weren't hanging by a thread, at the mercy of some asshole angel. So, yeah … If it means compromising yours or Robbie's lives, then I guess I'm not done."

Shock washed over her, but Rachel tried to control the side effects. Her eyes watered nearly uncontrollably, and she stilled her quivering lip by biting on it. Her heart sank and broke, ice flooding her veins. "Then _we_ are," she said quietly, willing herself to hold back her tears.

Sam blinked rapidly, the ground beneath him crumbling to dust. His lover, his fiancée, his shelter and peace had turned into the source of one of the greatest pains he had ever felt. His life unraveled at warp speed. He was sure she would see his side, sure that she wouldn't be stubborn enough to not realize how much danger she and Robbie were in. "No," he murmured, shaking his head, pushing aside the reality that was consuming him.

"Yeah, Sam," Rachel managed, a tear leaking from her eyes. "We are."

Sam rushed to her, taking her hands. "No, we aren't." He gaped as she withdrew from his grasp, his throat burning and dry as he watched her purposefully move away from him. She was serious. "We aren't," he repeated, his own tears falling.

"You made up your mind."

He was panicked. "So, because I want you to be safe, you're leaving?!"

Rachel looked him over. He truly didn't see what he was doing. "No, Sam," she whispered. "We're leaving because you're killing us."

Just when he didn't think it could get worse, he took note of her words. "We?" he breathed, suddenly realizing her intention. "No, no, no," he pleaded. "No, you … You can't … You and Robbie can't …" He forgot to breathe, sucking in some air. He took her hands, squeezing them with a lethal grip. "Please, baby girl. Please understand that I would literally do _anything_ for both of you. Please. God, I … I just want you safe. I want to give you that life I promised you. I want to give Robbie the life he deserves, but I can't do that if you're both dead!"

"It's over," Rachel replied, surprising herself with her gentle tone. She freed one hand, wiping away some of his tears as she brushed his hair from his brow. "This isn't life, Sam. This isn't living."

"Tell me what to do," Sam begged, pulling her closer still. "Tell me what to do so you stay."

Waiting for a long moment, Rachel looked into his eyes, seeing the utter ache he felt. "Don't do everything alone. Talk to me. Don't shut me out. Don't decide what's best for us all the time. Let me help you. Let me fight."

What she wanted wasn't possible. Not with how much he loved her. "I …"

Swallowing hard, Rachel lowered her hand from Sam's face as he failed to reply. "We'll be in Donna's cabin," she decided quietly. "When you're ready to have a real relationship, you know where we'll be."

Sam's feet were cemented to the floor, his grip involuntarily loosening on Rachel as she pulled away. With a flash, Robbie re-entered the kitchen, responding to Rachel's silent communication. He saw father's pale face. It only took a moment for the boy to catch up, reading his mind with ease. "Come on," Rachel urged, knowing he knew everything by the look in his eyes. "Let's go pack."

"No!" Sam yelled, feral and wild. He blocked the way, panting. "You'll die there! There's no protection. They'll find you."

"Then I guess I'll have to fight," Rachel replied, holding his gaze.

Dean reentered the kitchen from the other passage, seeing the standoff. His stomach sank. He saw these looks before, this level of pain in Sam's eyes, the ache in Rachel's. It wasn't good. But it would get even uglier if Sam didnt back down.

"Move, Sam," Rachel said, her voice soft. Sam sniffed, shaking his head. "I will move you if I need to," she added.

"Step aside, Sammy," Dean murmured, catching Rachel's and Robbie's glances over their shoulders at him. He wet his throat, seeing the anger Sam held for him in that moment in his brother's eyes. "Step aside," he repeated gently.

Drawing in his bottom lip, Sam's jaw ticked as he panted, unable to surrender. He looked down at Robbie, who was watching intently. He remembered Jack's words the night he nearly killed Ketch for his insinuations about his relationship with Rachel. He had to show Robbie the good in him. He had to prove he could be strong enough to release her. It would be the only way he'd get them back.

Slowly, Sam moved aside, shutting his eyes in defeat as Rachel passed him with Robbie. He was sure he was dead. There wasn't anything left, nothing he felt anyway. He was empty, barren, void.

When they had left, Sam looked up at Dean, nostrils flared. He wanted to scream at his brother, to blame him for losing the love of his life and his son. But he couldn't. He couldn't blame anyone but himself.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as Sam tore past him in the opposite direction Rachel had gone, knocking against his shoulder on his way out. "Dammit, Sammy," Dean whispered when he was alone. He looked toward the hall where the bedrooms were, afraid.

He was wrong. This was far worse than it was months ago.


	87. Chapter 87

Dean drew in a breath, holding his fist midair as he faced Rachel and Sam's bedroom door. Blowing out air, he knocked, hearing gentle movements inside. "Rach?" Dean asked softly, pursing his lips as he waited. "Can I come in?"

Though she didn't respond, Dean cracked the door open gently, seeing Rachel busying herself packing a bag. "Hey, kiddo," he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind himself gingerly. He watched her for a moment, trying to think of his next move. "Look," he sighed, "Sam is—"

"An idiot," Rachel finished, jamming her jeans in the bag harder than necessary. "A giant, stupid, idiot."

Dean shrugged and nodded a little. "You're not wrong. But he also is absolutely insanely in love with you. And Robbie … Robbie is his heart out of his body."

"Then why won't he listen?" Rachel asked, pausing as she looked up at Dean. "Dean, this isn't our first rodeo with this. This started with Arioch, then when I got pregnant. Then with Lucifer and his deal. Then when Robbie was born. Then with finding you. And now. He hasn't learned from any of it."

"Rach, it's not easy to let the people you love hop on the frontlines of an insane war."

"He lets you and Mary do it," she challenged. "All the freakin' time."

"That's—"

"No," Rachel growled, pointing her finger as she took a step closer. "Don't you _dare_ say it's different. Because it's _not._ You're his _brother._ But he never thinks twice of you fighting. His formerly _dead mother_ has a hall pass. Hell, even little Maggie's got one! And Jack, _without grace_! Everyone gets to live their lives, to help, to fight … everyone _but us_."

"This isn't the life he wants for either of you," Dean reasoned.

Rachel laughed softly, shaking her head. "That's precisely my point, Dean. This isn't what _he_ wants for us. But when was the last time he stopped to consider what _we_ want? You know, without going behind my back?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, words failing. She was right. Sam had controlled their entire relationship because of his fear of losing her and Robbie.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy," Rachel continued, her tone softer. "All I'm saying is, this isn't a relationship. It's a dictatorship. It's prison. I have every right to fight this war like everyone else. And I also have a say in what Robbie gets to do. And until Dufus realizes that, I'm going to breathe some fresh, non-manufactured air, eat chocolate, and shoot things."

Dean watched as Rachel refocused on packing. She zipped up her bag, then snatched her gun from her bureau. Checking the clip, she tucked it in her waistband, then turned and faced Dean. His brotherly look made her feel a twinge of guilt. Sam had just gotten him back, and now she was leaving. But he made his choices. He decided not to listen … again. "Don't, Dean," she whispered, seeing him ready to speak. "Don't try to talk me out of this."

"Michael is out there," Dean reasoned gently, stepping closer to her. Seeing her ready to go made his stomach sick. "The last thing I want is my little sister and my nephew in a remote, unwarded cabin." He sighed. "Can you … Can you settle for the far side of the bunker? You can shoot whatever you want in the range. Hell, take Sam in there! Put a few rounds in his limbs. Just …" He wet his lips, seeing her brow arch as she remained unmoved. "Please, Rach. I'll talk to him. I will. I'll beat the shit out of him if I have to. Just stay."

Robbie flapped in, bag slung over his shoulder. "It's okay, Uncle Dean," Robbie assured. "I'll protect Mom." He patted his bag. "I'm strong. And I've got spray paint to ward everything. She'll be fine."

"Dean," Rachel whispered, bridging the gap and reaching up to stroke his cheek. "We have to go. And you know it." She paused. "Please tell Cas, Jack, and Mary goodbye. And tell Sam _not_ to come up unless he's _truly_ ready to change." She stood on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, withdrawing with a heavy sigh.

The faint sound of glass crashing in the distance pulled Dean's focus. He looked toward it, then back at where Rachel and Robbie were standing.

They were gone.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!"

Mary rushed into the library at the sound of crashing glass, recognizing Sam's distressed voice as he shouted. When she paused in the doorway, she saw him pacing the room like a caged lion, tugging at his hair as he seethed. "What happened?" she asked, moving to him.

Sam barely noticed, only slowing a little as she neared him. "I'm going to kill Michael, I swear to God!"

"Easy," Mary urged. She rested her hand on his forearm, stilling him. His cheeks were still damp with tears, eyes red. "What happened?"

Dean came into the library, out of breath as he rushed from the hall. "Rach is …" He stopped when he saw Sam's pained look. "They're gone."

"Who is?" Mary asked, perplexed.

"Rach and Robbie."

Lips parted, Mary looked to Sam, who had turned his back to everyone. "Wait, what?!"

"They're at Donna's cabin," Dean explained softly. "Teleported. Until things get … figured out."

"What 'things?'" Mary scoffed.

Dean gave her a pained look, gently gesturing to Sam with his chin. Still confused, Mary looked to Sam. Realization washed over her. They finally fought. She knew it was going to be a bad one, judging from the secrets they were laden with, and the resentment that had built for months . Still, it seemed rash and irresponsible of Rachel to take Robbie out of hiding. Although, Mary fully understood Rachel's point of view. Maybe a little too well.

A small grouping had gathered, triggered by the noise and yelling, Castiel and Jack among them. A chilled hush ran over the room, everyone hesitant as they watched Sam bury his face in his hands. Daniel gently pushed through to the front, clearing his throat. "Chief," he said quietly, "want us to get 'em?"

Sam stared at the concrete in front of him. They teleported, not even saying goodbye. It hurt more than he imagined. But there was little he could do, other than promise Rachel he was willing to sacrifice her to win. Could he? Could he willingly do that?

"No," Sam replied, his voice shaky and broken. "They'll be alright."

Mary looked to Dean, whose brow creased. He shook his head. It felt like suicide. "Sam—" Dean started.

"What's on the trackers?" Sam interrupted, turning to the other hunters, ignoring Dean. When no one answered, Sam grew irritated. "What's on the trackers?" he repeated.

"We've, uh, got a small group of gypsy vamps west of us reported," Maggie offered quietly.

Sam nodded. "Alright. I need scouts in that area. Report back with any findings. Nest size, anything relevant. Then we'll assemble a team. Julie, Patrick — make sure we've got Dead Man's Blood bullets at the ready."

After Sam gave them a nod, the hunters resumed their work, hushed murmurs spreading among them as they dispersed. Sam rested his hands on the desk in front of himself, focusing on the wood grain.

Mary drew in a breath, inching closer to her son as Bobby lingered a few paces back. "Sam. Her being alone with Robbie …"

"Look," Sam interrupted, turning to his mother, "I'll handle it, alright?" He huffed, pushing away from the desk and snatching his laptop off the shelf next to him. Flipping the lid open, he sat and furiously typed, ignoring the others as he focused on his work.

Bobby tapped Mary on the shoulder, ushering her to leave Sam be. Castiel followed suit with Jack, and Dean approached Sam's side, the rest leaving. "Whatcha doing, Sammy?" he asked, gentle in his approach.

"Adding Rachel's geolocation to the monitors," Sam replied flatly, looking at his phone as a cross reference, then typing a string of numbers and letters into the computer.

Dean cleared his throat. "She, uh, said not to come up … unless you were ready to, uh …"

"I figured." Sam sighed. He set his phone down and leaned back against the chair, distressed. "Where did I go wrong, Dean?" he asked, brow crease as he looked up at his brother.

"You need to pull the reins back," Dean replied, sitting next to him. "She's feeling trapped. Bird in a cage."

"She wants me to volunteer her," Sam scoffed. "She expects me to give her a gun and put her face to face with Michael while she's got one of his radicals inside of her. And-and she expects me to make the same mistake as Dad did? I can't let Robbie get himself killed. I need to prepare him, so he can at least protect himself."

"Rach can handle her own," Dean countered.

Sam eyed him. "I know she can."

"Then why won't you trust her like you trust us?"

"I _do_ trust her, Dean! I trust that she'll be insane enough to do _whatever_ it takes for this family. Because she already did. I don't doubt her ability at all. I'm scared for her because of it."

"Then have her back."

"I do!"

Dean shook his head. "No, see … Locking her up isn't having her back. That's treating her like a child. Like Dad did to us. Leaving and going out on his own, when he should've had backup. _That's_ what she's ticked about." Dean paused. "I know how hard it was with Jess—"

Sam shut his eyes. "Stop," he warned.

"Sammy, you can't do this to her," Dean insisted. "You've got to let go of your fear."

Standing, Sam abandoned his laptop in silence, stalking down the hall. In his haste to get away from Dean, Sam left his phone on the desk.

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sam's phone buzzing caught his attention. Hoping it was Rachel, he looked at the caller ID. His brow wrinkled as he read the name. "The hell," he muttered, snatching up the phone. "What the hell do you want?" he asked after he answered it.

Ketch paused in the airport he was walking in. "Dean? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You … Michael …"

Dean shut his eyes. Sam even had Ketch on his search. Now he knew just how desperate he was. "Yeah, well, I'm back. I'm fine. So, what do you want?"

"Sam texted me. I'm on my way to Kansas."

"For what?"

"He mentioned an issue with Rachel. You … you aren't aware?"

"Wow. Sam's really desperate."

Ketch sighed. "Right. So, what's going on with Rachel?"

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam asked as he came back into the library, seeing him on his phone. He snatched it away, irritated as he glanced at the caller ID, then put it to his ear. "Where are you?" he asked Ketch.

"About to board. Everything alright?"

Sam looked to Dean, seeing his brother watching intently. Rachel wouldn't listen to him. She'd send Dean, Cas, Mary, or any of the other hunters packing. Ketch was not anywhere close to what he wanted anywhere near his future wife or son, but he needed protection for her now more than ever. And as slimy as Ketch was to him, he never failed to come through for Rachel, which he knew she'd recognize. It was his only option, aside from lying to Rachel that he was ready to sacrifice her. "I'm sending you an address," Sam said, blowing out a breath. When you're stateside, go there. And stay there. No matter what. And whatever you do, don't let Rachel or Robbie out of your sight, and don't let them get so much as a paper cut. You got it?"

Ketch's lips parted. "Wait, they're not with you?"

"Did you hear me?" Sam asked, his tone darkening. "You go there, and you watch them. I don't give a shit if you sleep or eat. But I swear to God, you even so much as think about anything other than watching them, I'll quarter you with a spoon."

After a moment of silence, Ketch cleared his throat. "Right. I look forward to the address."

Sam angrily pressed the end button, his pulse skyrocketing. What the hell was he thinking? He had nearly killed Ketch before for going near Rachel. "Wow," Dean chided; Sam rolled his eyes. "You're one stubborn sonofabitch."

"She needs protection," Sam reasoned, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"Yeah, and that should be from _you_ , you idiot."

Sam turned, facing Dean. "She doesn't want me up there."

"She doesn't want this thickheaded version of you up there," Dean corrected. "She wants you to ease up enough to apologize, _not_ send the most arrogant prick we know to play bodyguard."

"Yeah, well, this is what I can do right now," Sam huffed, sitting at the desk in front of his laptop and watching the screen intently.

Shaking his head, Dean turned and left the library. "Real dumb, Sammy," he muttered on his way out, making Sam grit his molars together. "Real dumb."


	88. Chapter 88

Rachel exhaled deeply, looking at the sizeable cabin in front of her as Robbie adjusted his bag on his shoulder beside her. "Alright, baby," she breathed softly, "let's go."

"Mom," Robbie interrupted, his hand on her arm stopping her. "Why isn't Dad with us?"

Exhaling deeply, Rachel looked down at him. "You know why," she murmured. "You know exactly why."

"But Mom, he's human," Robbie insisted. "He can't understand us. So we have to help him."

"Robbie," Rachel said, her brow furrowing, "just because your dad is human doesn't mean he doesn't know how to treat us."

"He's just scared!"

"So am I. But when you're scared, you stick together." Rachel gritted her teeth. "And your dad doesn't do that. He runs away. He hides us. And it will get him killed."

"So we should be there," Robbie argued, his voice raising. "We should be helping him!"

Running her hand through Robbie's hair, Rachel gently shook her head. "I've been trying to help your dad since the day I met him," she whispered. "It's his turn to help himself."

Focusing on the lock, Rachel opened the cabin door, peering into the space. Robbie flicked the lights on, shutting the door behind himself. Slowly, Rachel walked through toward the sofa, her heart heavy as she considered Robbie's concerns. She couldn't keep living like Sam wanted her to. She couldn't spend her days hiding, waiting for God only knew what to come knocking. She wasn't passive. She wouldn't roll over, and Sam had to know that. And he had to show her he knew by trusting in her.

Tossing her bag down, Rachel shut her eyes. "You hungry?" she asked softly, glancing over her shoulder at Robbie. "Teleporting seems to make me hungry."

"A little," Robbie admitted.

"Why don't you go find a room you'd like to sleep in, and I'll start up something to eat? You can play on your tablet until I'm done."

"'Kay."

Rachel watched as Robbie disappeared into the darkened hall, biting back her tears. Heading for the kitchen, Rachel sighed as she opened the fridge. Aside from some bottled water and beer, it was empty. "Of course," she mumbled, shutting the fridge door harder than necessary. "Robbie," she called out, waiting until the boy came in. "I, uh, didn't really think this through. We need to go buy stuff to eat."

"'Kay," Robbie shrugged.

"Let's ward the cabin before we go, alright?"

"I'll go get my spray paint," Robbie replied, flapping away only to reappear a moment later.

Taking a can of red paint, Rachel drew in a deep breath. "Let's go."

* * *

After warding every inch of the property they could, Robbie helped Rachel start an old truck that was parked in the gravel driveway. They drove to the local grocery stop, loading up the back with food and returning to the cabin. Rachel was more than nervous, but no one seemed to care. Still, she was relieved to be back at the cabin, the walls feeling like both freedom and another prison. Though this prison was her own choice. At least that's what she convinced herself.

A few times, she glanced at her phone, releasing breaths she didn't know she was holding. Sam had called the first couple hours more than five times. After they returned to the cabin, it was silent. As if he just gave up. Did she expect him to keep calling if she wasn't going to answer?

Rachel refocused on the dishes, the air quiet around her save for the running water. Robbie had gone to bed, though he insisted he wasn't tired. He fell asleep during the movie they were watching, and Rachel was finally able to convince him to pack it in. It had been nearly eight hours since she left the bunker. It both felt like forever and not long enough. Her heart twisted, guilt flooding through her. She had broke Sam's heart. She knew that. Yet, he had broken her will to continue. She couldn't. Not in the way he wanted. How long would it take him to realize that?

Hours passed, the dishes long since done, and everything touched by either her or Robbie returned to its exact spot. Still, the voices enveloped her. Nothing would quiet her mind. Especially not the old black and white movie she watched.

Rachel curled up tighter to herself, tugging the blanket over her a little more. The long sweater cardigan over her thermal shirt and leggings did little to fight the chill that seemed to run permanently through her. The glow from the television flickered over her face, the only source of light in the cabin. She glanced to her gun resting beside her, her phone next to that. What was she expecting? Was she expecting Sam to keep trying when she wasn't? Was she supposed to try? Wasn't the ball in his court?

At some point, she must've drifted off to sleep, roused awake by the crunch of gravel as a vehicle approached. Rachel quickly flicked off the TV, her throat drying out as she snatched up her gun. Her phone showed the time — it was nearly four in the morning. She stood, her bare feet hitting the wooden floor with quiet purpose as she intently watched the door.

"Mom?" Robbie asked, flapping into the living room, woken by the unexpected piercing lights from a car through the window. His dark hair was rumpled from sleep, as were his plaid pajama pants and black tee shirt.

"Shh," Rachel urged, drawing him to a darkened corner. She swallowed hard, standing in front of him as she looked back to the door. Sam would've called to tell her he was coming. He wouldn't have scared her by just showing up. Her heart raced, her palms growing clammy with the familiar adrenaline rush of an impending fight. She raised her gun, stance firm as she focused.

Rachel jumped as a gentle knock rapped on the door. "Rachel?" she heard a male voice ask on the other side. _Ketch._ Lips parting in disbelief, she lowered her weapon a little. "It's Ketch. It's alright," Ketch insisted. "I'm alone."

Ushering Robbie to stay back, Rachel moved to the door slowly, swallowing hard as she unbolted the locks. She cracked the door open, the cold winter air gusting through despite the narrow width.

Ketch stood on the other side, offering her a small smile. "Sam sent me," he said gently. "You're not compromised."

"He … what?" Rachel gaped.

"May I?" Ketch asked, nodding to the door.

Lowering her gun down, Rachel opened the door, stepping aside as Ketch walked in. She closed it behind him, replacing the locks. "Sam … sent _you_?" she asked, turning to him.

"He's telling the truth, Mom," Robbie said, stepping out from the shadows.

"My," Ketch said, taking in the changes since he last saw Robbie, "you've grown quite a bit, haven't you? Ever more a strapping boy."

"Why-why did he send you?" Rachel asked, stealing Ketch's focus.

"He didn't tell me the situation," Ketch admitted, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. "He was quite clear about what he wanted, though."

"And what was that?"

"To stay here. Keep watch over you and Robbie."

Rachel scoffed, setting her gun down on the coffee table. "Oh really?" Bitterness laced her tone. "So, instead of coming up here himself, he decided to send _you_?" She shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"May I ask what happened?" Ketch asked.

"No, you may not," Rachel replied stiffly. She looked to Robbie. "Back to bed," she instructed.

"But Mom—" Robbie began to argue.

"Bed," she repeated. "Ketch will be leaving soon anyway."

Ketch started to speak, silenced as Rachel turned her back to him and guided the boy to the bedroom. When she returned a few moments later, she tugged her cardigan around her tightly, glancing at Ketch's bag he set down. "You can go back to Kansas. We're fine," she said quietly, looking up and catching his eyes. They seemed more empathic than she expected. She snatched up her phone, sticking it in her cardigan pocket. "Look," she sighed, moving away toward the kitchen, "I'll heat you up some food. Sleep, then you can go in the morning."

"You seem well, despite the extra grace," Ketch noted.

That wasn't a topic she wanted to cover. "I'm fine," Rachel said, turning away from him.

Following her at a distance, Ketch watched her intently. The unspoken nature of what must have happened intrigued him. "I, uh, made fajitas," Rachel said, taking out the leftovers and glancing back at Ketch. "I hope that's okay."

"Can't say I've eaten too many of them in my life," Ketch admitted. "But a hot meal is always appreciated." His brow arched as he continued to study her, the questions piling up on his tongue through the thick silence. "So," he said, clearing his throat as the microwave rotated, "how long have you been here?"

"Since yesterday afternoon," Rachel murmured, avoiding his eyes. She was relieved when the microwave sounded, pulling out the warmed dish and putting it on the small eat-in table that Ketch stood at. "Beer? Water?"

"Water is fine, thank you."

Rachel poured him a glass, setting it down next to the plate. "There's, uh, more if you'd like seconds," she murmured, fidgeting with her cardigan as Ketch sat. "I'll go make up the couch for you." It was as good excuse as any to avoid Ketch's questioning looks, knowing full well how much he wanted to be brought up to date.

Busying herself finding extra blankets and pillows, Rachel didn't hear Ketch rinse his plate and return to the living room. She was far too angry and hurt for that. Sam clearly wasn't backing down. Was their relationship a lost cause? They had Robbie to consider, and a boy of his caliber meant they'd need to stay close-ish at all times. It would be too risky otherwise. Hence why he likely sent Ketch. _He fucking sent Ketch. Instead of just coming up here like a grown ass man, he sends Ketch. What the actual hell, Sam?! How could he be that dense?! I swear to Chuck, he's hit his head one too many times. Because he's one stupid son of a—_

"Shit," she gasped, pausing after Ketch's sudden presence unexpectedly surprised her. "I, uh, found these—"

"Rachel," Ketch said softly, taking the blankets from her and setting them aside. "What happened?"

The words burned her throat, knowing if they escaped, it would only validate Ketch's last conversation with her. Still, there was little avoiding it. She knew he must've suspected something. The circumstances warranted suspect. Ketch had a way of making her unsure of herself, though. She couldn't risk swaying under his will. Going to reply, she paused. "Scoping out a lead," she decided. "Milk run, really. I don't need help, so thanks, but you wasted the trip here. Have a good night's sleep."

"It's Sam, isn't it?" Ketch asked, making Rachel freeze on her route to her bedroom. She kept her back to him, shutting her eyes. "He's done it, hasn't he? Kept you locked away? Changed his mind about your value to the team? Or should I say, he hasn't changed at all?"

"He …" Rachel wet her lips, wrapping her sweater around herself. "Like I said, I'm here on a lead," she repeated. "Goodnight."

Ketch watched as she disappeared, hearing the door click shut a moment later. Sighing, he sat down on the couch, shaking his head. "You've really screwed the pooch this time, mate," he muttered.

* * *

Rachel tossed and turned, failing to sleep despite the extra assurance of Ketch in the next room. It was 7:32 am, the house quiet. Ketch was likely sleeping due to the late hour he arrived. Robbie was probably holed up in his room with his tablet, leaving her to lay on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, and she shut her eyes. It had to be Sam. He was probably up for two hours by now. She snatched it, looking at the preview for the text:

 **Can** _ **we please talk? Please?**_

Grumbling, she threw the phone back onto the bedside table. "Talk" for Sam meant him blindly trying to persuade her of his side. And she wasn't interested in that kind of conversation. Tugging the blankets over her, she rolled into her side, her back to the phone as it buzzed a second, then third time. Rachel shut her eyes, forcing herself to ignore it. After all, Sam had ignored the problem for eight months, hadn't he?

At the bunker, Sam grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket after the lack of response from Rachel. He wasn't sure if she even saw the texts yet, but he was still upset.

Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed, propping his elbows on the maps table as he pressed his forehead to his palms. He was exhausted from a night with no sleep. He and Dean angrily hashed it out late the night before, leaving Sam stewing and restless. He needed to apologize to Rachel, but he also needed to mean it. And he did. He was sorry. But he was also scared out of his mind. What she wanted him to accept felt impossible.

Sam was hopeful when he felt a buzz in his pocket. He whipped out his phone, grumbling when he saw the text he received was from Ketch:

 **Rachel's adamant about me leaving. She is confident she can handle the lead on her own.**

 _Lead?_ Sam thought. He typed back:

 **What lead?**

Ketch scoffed as he looked at the reply:

 **What do you mean, what lead? The reason she's at the cabin.**

Sam shut his eyes. She didn't tell Ketch why she was there. He didn't know whether to be thankful or worried. Why would she keep it from him?

 **Stay there. Watch them.**

Sam waited for an actual response, but instead received a thumbs up emoji. "Seriously?" he growled. With a huff, he stood and shoved the phone into his jeans pocket, pacing toward the kitchen and snatching a mug off the rack, prepping for coffee.

"Sam."

Sam paused, the gravelly voice not one he expected to hear. "Cas," he replied, continuing to pour his coffee.

Castiel watched as Sam stirred in cream, then took a seat at the table with his mug. He stepped toward him. "Rachel and Robbie are resonating quite strongly," he said empathetically, sitting across from him. Sam didn't look up from his mug. "Their power is—"

"I know, Cas," Sam grumbled, taking a sip of coffee. "I know they're at risk. _I_ know that. But does _she_ know that?" He looked up at Castiel. "Does she _realize_ how much danger she's in?"

Castiel paused. "What I was going to say is, both your future wife and son are angels. Some of the very few left. You're going to have to deal with that."

"How does anyone expect me to 'just deal' with it?" Sam countered.

"She's not asking you to pretend like you're not scared. She's—"

Sam held up his hand. "Look, I already had it out with Dean about this last night. I get it. She wants me to give her a chance."

"Sam," Castiel said, shaking his head, "you know as well as I do that no one 'lets' Rachel do things. She's not asking for permission. She is asking for your acceptance."

"I can't just 'accept' them possibly being killed!"

"Having Rachel's back while she fights is far safer than refusing to accept that she _will_ fight, whether you like it or not. And your stubbornness otherwise is nothing more than stupidity."

"Guess everyone is done with the gentle approach," Sam muttered.

"Dean said you sent Ketch up there," Castiel continued. Sam swore he swore bitterness in his eyes.

"I did what I could," Sam replied coolly.

"You should've went, or at the very least, you could've sent me."

"Rachel wouldn't listen to you."

"So her listening to Ketch is a better option?" Castiel stood, eyeing Sam. "What I'm saying is, would you rather spend your life with them, however long that may be, or would you rather them leave?"

When Sam didn't respond right away, Castiel stood with a huff. "You should be proud of your son," he said, eyeing Sam. "He has an abundance of power that no one—including me—even fully understands. Yet, he obeys his father. To a fault. At least he didn't take after the Winchester Way of unnecessary self sacrifice."

Sam shut his eyes as Castiel left the kitchen. He buried his face into his hands, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. Castiel was right. They all were. He knew that. He just had to find a way to make peace with it.

Lowering his hand, Sam took up his mug, sipping his coffee as he rubbed at his temples with the other hand. He heard light footfalls approaching, dread filling him. "Whatever you want to say has already been said," Sam muttered after he finished his drink, setting down his cup.

"Uh, so …" Maggie cleared her throat. Sam looked up, not expecting to see her. "So they already told you about the caravan of werewolves?"

Sam sighed, standing. Yet another diversion that would grow the wedge between him and Rachel. "No. What's going on?"

"They're headed east from Wichita. Already took out nearly ten locals."

With a nod, Sam looked down at her. "Get everyone together in the library," he said. "We need to debrief."

Maggie quietly left the kitchen, and Sam gritted his molars. He pulled out his phone and checked it. No texts or calls from Rachel. Jaw ticking, he fired off a text to Ketch:

 **Delayed by a werewolf caravan. Keep watch over them. I'll be up as soon as I can.**

At the cabin, Ketch opened the message, eyes narrowing as he read it. Pursing his lips, he replied:

 **Will do.**

Ketch pocketed the phone as Rachel came into the room, tugging her hoodie around her tighter; she was dressed fairly casually in jeans and a thermal under the sweatshirt, but her boots were on. Was she planning on heading somewhere? Rachel paused, brow arched as she looked at him. "'Morning," he offered.

"I … thought you would've left," she admitted.

"I've an obligation," he reminded her.

"No, you don't. I'm fine. We're fine."

"Still," Ketch said, taking a step closer, "it's kinda nice to be on holiday for a bit. Not an ideal location, but it'll do."

"We're not here on vacation."

"Right. A 'lead,' isn't it?"

"This isn't something that concerns you," Rachel insisted.

"I've been given a task, and I see them through to completion."

Rachel scoffed. "So all of a sudden, you play by the book?"

Ketch smiled. "I've always played by the book, darling. I've just embellished the contents a bit here and there."

A soft smile slowly warmed over Rachel's mouth. She sighed heavily. Sam's stupidity couldn't be fixed by being mad at Ketch, who went out of his way to be there. It wasn't his fault Sam was an idiot. Blowing out a breath, Rachel shrugged. "Well, you're going to be bored out of your mind, but it's your choice."

"I highly doubt that," Ketch replied, his smile widening a touch. He nodded to her boots. "Planning on a trip this morning?"

With a small laugh, Rachel shook her head, going into the kitchen. "I was planning on shooting some things outside, and teaching Robbie to as well." She caught a whiff of coffee, glancing back at Ketch. "You made coffee?"

He shrugged. "I didn't really sleep. I slept on the flight. Plus I wanted some. Not as thoughtful as it sounds."

Rachel swallowed, turning back to the pot. Ketch never failed to make her entirely confused. "Right," she murmured as sbe poured a cup. "Well, thanks."

"It's no trouble at all."

Stirring cream into her cup, she looked up as Robbie flashed in. "Really?" he asked her, eyes wide.

"Really," Rachel replied, knowing he heard her silent message about target practice.

"Awesome!"

"Breakfast first," she chided, halting the boy from running for his boots.

"Yes ma'am," Robbie sighed. He focused silently as he used his powers to swipe out a box of cereal, a bowl, a spoon, and the milk, watching as he sat at the table as the items settled in front of him.

"Guess you don't want eggs and bacon," Rachel shrugged as she sipped her coffee.

"Yeah!" Robbie said, shoving his former choices back into their homes with his mind.

Rachel laughed, setting her mug down. As she went toward the fridge, Ketch stopped her with a light touch on her arm. "You made an excellent dinner last night," he reasoned. "Us men can handle making a good, solid breakfast, right Robbie?"

Rachel shook her head. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't," Ketch insisted quietly. He paused for a moment. "But it's the least I can do."

"For what?"

"Not 'for' anything," he corrected. "It's just the least I can do to show you I'm not the boogeyman Sam's made me out to be."

Rachel wet her lips. "I don't think of you as a boogeyman," she replied softly.

Ketch's left side of his mouth curved up into a small but satisfied smile. "That's good to hear." He turned to Robbie. "Right, then. Shall you handle the eggs while I mind the bacon, then?"

"Okay," Robbie grinned.

Rachel sat and watched as Robbie cracked eggs with his powers, the boy laughing as Ketch said something she didn't hear. A pit grew in her stomach at the scene. She blinked hard, and for a moment saw Sam in Ketch's place, ruffling Robbie's hair as he rolled up his sleeves. Within another blink, it was once again Ketch. She wanted it to be Sam still. It should've been Sam. And she knew how desperately Sam wanted to give her this life. But what Sam didn't understand was that they already could have that life, if only he'd let go of his fears. They could be happy, even if the world was falling apart around them. They could have both, even if it didn't last long. They could be a real family, if Sam only stopped being … Sam.

Forcing the forming tears back, she drank her coffee in silence. The longer Sam stayed away, the clearer it became. Sam didn't want to stop suffocating them. Otherwise, he would have been there instead of Ketch. Wouldn't he?


	89. Chapter 89

Rachel watched the can fly off the fence she rested it on. A bit of smoke wafted from her gun. "Alright," she said with a deep breath, backing away from her spot she stood in. She looked to Robbie, smirking as she saw his wide eyes. "Your turn. Just like I showed you."

As Robbie went for Rachel's gun, Rachel paused midway, the tone of her cell phone ringer slicing through the air. "Hang on," she muttered, flicking on the safety and tucking her gun in her waistband. She focused on the number for a bit, shutting her eyes in defeat. With a tap, she answered it, holding up a finger to Robbie to ask him to wait as she paced away a little. "What?" she asked into the phone, cooler than she intended.

"Rach," Dean sighed, rubbing his temples. "Has Sam called you?"

"Like twenty seven times yesterday."

"But not today?"

"No." Rachel's brow furrowed. She heard the distinct edge of concern in Dean's voice. It wasn't driven by hers and Sam's fight, though. This was based on something different. "Why?"

"We've got a caravan of werewolves trekking east," Dean explained, glancing up as he paced the library. He was still alone. "No telling if they'll head north. Can we call a temporary truce until we get 'em under control?"

"It's not even a full moon yet," Rachel replied. "That's like … two-ish days from now. We're fine. Besides, we've got Ketch to 'watch us.' Isn't that what Sam wanted?"

Dean winced at her snippy tone. "Sam's an idiot for sending him up there."

"We're fine."

"Rach, I get it. I do. And hell, I'd be pissed too. But you need to think about Robbie."

With a scoff, Rachel put her free hand on her hip. "What the hell do you think I'm doing up here, Dean? Getting manicures and watching Ellen? That's _why_ I'm here. Because _someone_ has to think about Robbie. Not as a commodity, or a figurine, or as a chess piece. As a _person._ "

Dean blew out a breath. "You're killing me, kiddo."

Rachel heard the worried sadness in his tone; her resolved softened. With a glance back at Robbie, who intently watched her, she refocused on the tree line ahead of herself. Her eyes shut, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "If Sam is worried, then Sam can come up here himself," she finally said, her walls hardening again.

"Rach," Dean started, rubbing his temples, "I—"

"Look," she interrupted gently, "Sam made this mess. You and I both know it. It's his job to clean it up, not yours."

"I'm worried about you," Dean repeated, a sliver of pain in his voice. "Hell, I just got back from being Michael's puppet. Now my sister and nephew are prime bait for him."

"Michael is fully aware of both of us," Rachel reminded. "He always has been, ever since he came through with Lucifer. If he wanted us, he would've came for us."

"That's shit logic, kid. You're isolated up there. You weren't down here."

"Yeah, we were," Rachel said softly, the ache permeating her tone. "I've been isolated since the day I knew I was pregnant, and Robbie since the day he was born." She swallowed. "At least up here, we can breathe." Before Dean could speak, she continued. "I've gotta go. Love you."

Rachel hung up the phone, nipping at her lip as she looked down at the screen. Dean was right—they were an easy target up at the cabin. She couldn't suffocate in safety anymore, though.

Looking back to Robbie, she crossed to him, feeling Ketch's eyes on her. She caught a glimpse of his observatory look from her peripheral, glancing up at him. "Caravan of werewolves," she explained softly. "They're headed east. Dean is worried they might trek north."

"We're going back to the bunker then?" Ketch asked.

Rachel looked over at Robbie for a moment before returning her focus to Ketch. "No. We're staying here."

* * *

"I'm starving!" Robbie sighed dramatically as he flopped into a seat at the cabin table.

"Relax," Rachel chided. "You just ate two hours ago."

"That's a _long_ time, Mom! Especially 'cause I was hurling those logs!"

Ketch smirked. "It is a bit for a growing lad, such as yourself."

"See?" Robbie said to Rachel, who pursed her lips.

"I'll make some sandwiches," she replied with a sigh.

"Can I watch TV until you're done?"

"Sure."

Robbie bounded off into the living room, Rachel watching for a moment with an arched brow. Shaking her head with amusement, she headed into the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves. She ran the water, soaping her hands and scrubbing them before she made the food.

As she began taking out the ingredients from the fridge, she heard Ketch approach behind her. "Can I help?" he offered.

Rachel's first instinct was to reply with a snippy, "No," but in that moment, that instinct was soon replaced with a much softer, warmer feeling as she glanced back at him. He seemed more sincere than she knew he was capable of being. "Sure," she said quietly. "You can slice the tomatoes."

Turning back to pulling out the meats and cheeses, Rachel felt a flush creep up her cheeks as she kept her head in the fridge. _What in the hell?!_ she scolded herself. Was she _that_ desperate for Sam's approval of her choices that she swayed when she received it from Ketch? _Get it together_.

Inhaling deeply, Rachel straightened and shut the fridge, laying out the deli products on the counter with trepidation. Ketch was quietly slicing a tomato beside her, but the proximity was suddenly far too close. There was little choice in the kitchen, though, and the bread was on the counter in front of them. "You were in London," she noted quietly as she unwrapped the packages, hearing the soft filter of cartoon voices coming from the TV in the living room.

"I was," Ketch replied, still cutting. "Looking for a way to procure the 'egg,' as Dean called it."

"That's a twelve hour flight."

"Wasn't too bothered by it, seeing as I slept a fair portion of it."

Rachel swallowed, her throat feeling both full of lumps and bone dry. "Why?" she asked, her tone hesitant.

Ketch stopped, looking over at her, meeting her eyes. "Why … what? Did I sleep?"

"No, I mean … Why come back?"

Studying her, Ketch took a moment to respond. "Because Sam was worried for you."

Rachel kept her hands on the counter, digging her fingertips into it as she examined Ketch, still in denial that Sam's initial assessment of him was wrong. Was it, though? Was Ketch obsessed with her like Sam thought? Why else would he be so eager to drop everything for her? _Because … Because I'm a hunter, and … that's just what anyone would do. That's all._ "Is that all?" she dared to ask in spite of herself.

Ketch quietly took her in, a smile trying to tug at the corners of his mouth. "I was too," he admitted.

His admission hit her in the gut, her stomach immediately knotting and twisting, and not in a pleasurable way. An awful sickness overcame her. Sam was right. "I'm marrying Sam," she said, the words nearly tripping over themselves.

Ketch nodded slowly. "Even though he'd rather be personally content than fair to you?"

The sickness grew, making Rachel panic. She drew in a deep breath through her nose. "He is fair to me."

"Then why are you here?" Ketch countered, taking a step closer. Rachel was frozen as he stilled her fidgeting hand with his own. It was heavy and hot, warmth flowing over her at lightning speed. "If he's treating you well, why run?" Rachel's lips parted. She couldn't find the words to reply. "I am worried for you," Ketch continued. "Not because you're wanting to fight, but because you're doing it alone. You shouldn't be. You should be fighting alongside someone who believes in you … and who values you."

A cell phone ringer seemed to pierce through the air, making Rachel jump. She quickly took her hand out from under Ketch's, wetting her throat as she fished out her phone from her pocket. Not even bothering to see who it was, she jammed her finger on the answer button and moved toward the fridge, keeping her back to Ketch. "Yeah," she said shakily, wanting to climb inside the fridge and never come out.

"Oh, hiya," Donna said with a bright smile on the other end, slightly confused by Rachel's tone. "Just wanted to see how you were doing and all that."

Rachel sighed, shutting her eyes. "We're, um, good," she replied, forcing brightness into her voice. "Robbie's having a blast."

"Great! Glad to hear it."

"Thanks for, uh, letting us use the cabin."

"Oh, yeah, you betcha. But, nothing to thank me for. Glad it can be used." Donna's brow wrinkled slightly. "You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," Rachel laughed lightly. "Just a bit tired."

"Oh," Donna said. A nervous laugh filtered through. "Well, the beds are pretty comfy, don'tcha know, so don't feel like you and Sam can't take advantage and all that."

Understanding her implication, Rachel's flush returned. "Oh, no. We, uh … He's not …"

"Come on, now," Donna chided playfully. "You two lovebirds are getting married. It ain't like there's anything to be embarrassed about."

"Sam's not here," Rachel said, clearing her throat through Donna's silence. "It's, uh, just me and Robbie." She glanced back at Ketch for the briefest of moments, seeing him watching her intently.

"My friend Dave said he seen a fella out back this morning, though," Donna continued as Rachel attempted to shrink inward. "He was driving by, like he usually does to get to town, and saw the three of you shootin' cans. Thought he'd give me a call to make sure it was alright."

"That wasn't … That wasn't Sam," Rachel nearly squeaked.

"Oh," Donna said after a moment of hesitation, nodding slowly. "Oh, I see."

"I have to go," Rachel said quickly, not waiting for Donna to respond before she hung up and stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

On the other end, Donna's lips pursed as she looked at the phone. "Oh boy," she said softly with a sigh.

* * *

Sam exhaled deeply, his fists clenching his shirts as he stuffed them into his army green backpack. A couple days' worth of clothes would be enough. He was confident he could convince Rachel to come home. Or, he was extremely hopeful at the very least.

"Come in," he said in response to the knock on his door, not stopping to acknowledge who entered. He continued to pack, fishing out a few extra clips and tossing them into the small zipper compartment.

Mary sighed gently, looking Sam over. "Can I talk to you?" she asked.

Sam glanced up, surprised to see his mother. He had expected it to be Dean. "Sure," he murmured, zipping the compartment closed.

Stepping toward him, Mary drew in a breath for a bit of courage. "This fight you had with Rachel …" She paused, seeing Sam's jaw tick. "It was a long time coming, I'd imagine."

Sam swiped at his nose. "Yeah. Probably."

"Your father and I … we had one of those fights before you were born. I kept things from him, and he … Well, he was angry. He didn't like that I shut him out from part of me." Mary examined Sam. "Much like you don't appreciate Rachel's defiance."

Sam shifted his weight. "Mom—"

"I know you're not convinced, Sam," Mary interrupted. "I know that Rachel's desire to hunt makes you scared. Especially with her extra powers. And I know that even if you go up there, you're not being honest with yourself." She crossed to him, taking his hands. "And she will know that. You can't possibly hope that a five hour drive will make you change your mind when you're dead set against the idea of her or Robbie fighting."

"I can't leave them up there," Sam argued. "They're in danger."

"So, you're going to back down, then?" Mary countered. She pressed her lips together when she saw his hesitance. "You need to ask yourself why you're so afraid," she said gently. "Do you trust her?"

"Of course I do," Sam scoffed.

"I know you wouldn't have fallen for a wilting flower of a woman. She can handle herself. So can Robbie, given the chance. They are powerful."

"Too powerful," Sam muttered.

Mary sighed. "I know you're afraid for them, for what they mean to Heaven and Hell. You have to ask yourself if you'd rather be by her side while she fights, or if you'd rather not be there to have her back."

Sam let go of her hands, turning away from her as he raked his fingers through his hair. "It's not that simple," he argued, looking back at her. "She _lied_ , Mom. She lied about making a huge decision _alone_ that could've killed her."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "And you also lied to her about your deal with Lucifer, didn't you?" Nostrils flared, Sam was silent, his heart beating fast with his adrenaline. "You did it to protect her," Mary continued. "Just like she did to help Dean. You can't hold that against her when you did the same thing."

"I can't lose her too!" Sam shouted, his pulse skyrocketed. " _Not her_ , Mom! She's _everything_ to me, and-and she just wants to serve herself up to Michael? How can I let her do that? _How_?" Tears filled his eyes. "Mom, every single woman I've ever dared to care about is dead. _Every one_ of them. And I didn't even feel _half_ of what I do for Rachel with them. So tell me again how I'm supposed to sit back and say, 'Sure, sweetheart. Go ahead. Kill yourself for us.' Tell me how I can let my _son … my son …_ face the most powerful evil we know without wanting to puke my guts out?"

With a sharp breath, Sam stalked back to his bag and zipped it shut. His fingers trembled over the fabric; he felt Mary's eyes on him in his peripheral, choosing to focus on the backpack instead.

Heartbroken for him, Mary sighed. "Sam, no one ever said you wouldn't hate every second of it," she replied gently. She crossed to him, covering his shaking hand with her own. He froze under her touch. "No one ever said you'd _want_ to do it, or that you'd feel okay doing it. But if we only have a limited time on this earth, then shouldn't we spend it to the fullest with those we love, no matter what?"

Sam silently contemplated his mother's words, feeling the heat from her palm calm his shake. "I don't know if I can," he whispered, voice breaking as he kept most of his back to her. "I don't know if I can let go."

"Then she will," Mary whispered sadly. "And that's a wound you'll never heal."

A knock gently shook the door; Mary's hand slowly slipped off Sam's. Swiping away a tear, Sam looked to the exit. "Come in," he managed, his tone scruffy with emotion.

Julia, one of the hunters, peered in as she slowly opened the door. "We've got a lead on the caravan," she said, looking apologetic as she took in the vibe between the mother and son. "Do you want to assemble a team?"

Sam ran his fingers over his backpack, seemingly staring through Julia as he contemplated his next move. "No," he finally said. "Mom will." He sniffed, looking down at his mother. "I'll be back soon," he assured.

Sam shrugged on his jacket and slung his bag over his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek before slipping out of his room with purpose.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He paused, fishing it out and seeing Donna's name on the ID. "Hey, Donna," he said with a forced smile, looking at the wall in front of him.

"Oh, hiya," Donna said, releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She sat in her sheriff vehicle, smoothing the material on her pants nervously. "I, uh, was just callin' to see how you and the little family were doing."

Sam winced. "Uh, fine," he managed. "Listen, I—"

Donna sighed. "Sam, I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night."

Sam cleared his throat. "...Okay?"

Rolling her eyes, Donna huffed. "You didn't want to mention you'd broken up?" she finally said, annoyed. "Look, I don't mind y'all using the cabin, but I'm not trying to support infidelity."

"Infidelity?"

"Uh-huh. Friend of mine saw Rachel with some man. Thought it was you. She said it wasn't." Donna rubbed her temples, her tone softening. "Sam, what happened?"

A pit deepened in Sam's stomach at the idea of Ketch being up there with Rachel. It was his own doing. He had no one to blame for this entire mess but himself. "It's … He's not … He's a hunter. Just there to watch them until I get up there. We aren't … We're still … I mean …"

"Jeez Louise," Donna muttered. "That's alright. Don't hurt yourself." She drew in a breath. "So you're still getting married? Because I have been drinking kale shakes for breakfast to fit in a dress for nearly two months, mister. And if I've been downing that for no good reason—"

"We'll be okay," Sam assured. "I'll talk to you soon."

He hung up, exhaling deeply. His motivation strengthened at the picture Donna painted for him that he drew. With purpose, he stalked down the hall and into the garage, ripping out of it in a sports car moments later.


	90. Author Note

Hi everyone.

I realize it's been a while since I've updated this story. For those who have been reading and following over the last year, thank you. I felt I owed a little explanation of why I haven't updated in a while.

I've been struggling, to be honest. I originally started this story as a way to cope with my mom taking a turn for the worst during her fight with cancer. She was diagnosed in 2016, and fought hard for two years. She was getting better, then she suddenly wasn't. So leading up to her one year anniversary of her passing in May, I haven't felt at all like writing (either in this or my original saga I published). It's been hard to find inspiration, since she was my biggest fan and best friend. I miss her dearly, more than I could ever explain.

I promise I will continue things right through to the end of S15. I hopefully will have the right headspace to soon.

Thank you for your love, understanding, and support. Always keep fighting.


	91. Chapter 90

Rachel swallowed hard as she watched Robbie polish off his second sandwich, the boy following the rushed meal with a gulped glass of milk. With a satisfactory sigh, Robbie set down his cup and looked at his mother. He easily read the tension in her, though he forced himself to stay out of her thoughts. "Can I play my tablet?" he asked.

Still nauseous from Ketch's clear advance, Rachel gave him a half-hearted nod, barely seeing him leave as she tried to think of her next move. Robbie's hunger drove him into the kitchen after the phone call with Donna, leaving Rachel unable to respond to Ketch. Now that they were alone, Rachel drew in a breath. "You should leave," she decided, still avoiding his eyes.

"Forgive me for being forward earlier," Ketch said, watching her. "The truth of it isn't exactly delicate."

"That's an understatement," Rachel replied. "And far too bold of you."

"You're mad," Ketch concluded softly.

"Of course I am!" Rachel eyed him, finally holding his gaze. "You think you can sweep in and break an engagement behind Sam's back?"

Ketch's mouth fought a smile. "As I saw it, things were already quite broken."

Scoffing, Rachel pushed up from her seat at the table and paced toward the fridge. "Leave," she ordered.

"Sam told me to stay," Ketch replied, his smirk forming.

Rachel glared at him. "I will shoot you if you don't leave in the next thirty seconds."

Ketch stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Just admit I'm right, and I'll be on my way."

Dumbfounded, Rachel put her hands on her hips. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Tell me your relationship is broken, as I've said," Ketch continued, taking a step closer, "and then I'll go."

"It's _not_."

Nodding, Ketch looked her over. He took another step; his brazenness made gooseflesh sprout across Rachel's forearms as she lowered her arms. "You know, I'm an expert at reading people. And you're quite the open book."

"Stop it," Rachel warned, her pulse quickening as her hands trembled by her sides.

"You've some serious male acceptance issues," he continued, unfazed. "I can't blame you. You never we're allowed to just be yourself. First as a child, now as an adult. I'd figure Sam is just a placeholder where your father once was. Didn't he force you into a box too? Kept you locked away, afraid of who you really are?"

Rachel didn't even realize she was crying until she felt Ketch wipe her tear with a tender touch. She froze, unable to process the moment. She was both there and not, wrestling with both the urge to run and the urge to confide. "As I said," he continued in a whisper, "you deserve more. You deserve better than a cage. You deserve your freedom."

 _He's manipulating you,_ she thought, though she stared blankly at Ketch's shirt. _Don't let him._

A tremble coursed through Rachel's veins, a chill rushing up the back of her neck. With a heavy blink, she looked up to Ketch. A smile curled her lips, and she watched as Ketch's expression changed. She could feel the heat of her angelic powers rushing through her, a bottled strength begging to be freed. "Easy," she heard Ketch murmur as he stepped backward.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked with a knowing grin. "You afraid of me?"

"It's not you, Rachel," Ketch warned. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping Robbie would stay put in his room. "Don't let it control you."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have poked the bear," she countered, her eyes shining a brilliant blue-purple hue.

Before she could bridge the gap, Rachel paused, taking a look toward the cabin door. "We have company," she murmured, her smile still present.

"What are you talking about?" Ketch asked, still very much leery of the angel within Rachel.

"Some primitive abominations," Rachel shrugged. She strolled over to her gun that rested on the high shelf between the living room and the kitchen. Checking the clip, she reloaded the gun and held it out behind her back. "Might want this," she said to Ketch.

Ketch hesitantly took it, swallowing as he felt the chill of Rachel's skin. "Werewolves?"

"Yep. Don't worry, they're silver bullets."

"Rachel," he said softly, "what are you going to do?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Kill 'em."

"They're powerful, and you-"

"Listen, Brit," Rachel snapped, eyeing him, "your job is to keep the kid away. Got it?"

Ketch's heart raced as he thought of the possibilities. Rachel was currently being controlled by an angel who aligned itself with Michael. What was to say she wouldn't try to trick him, letting the wolves take Robbie? With a small nod, he held the gun to his side. "Right. I'll go warn him."

Rachel seemed to not notice Ketch palm the truck keys and slip out of the room, too anxious for the arrival of the wolves. Once out of sight, he burst into the bedroom, startling Robbie. "Get a jacket on," he ordered, though he kept his voice soft.

Robbie's brow wrinkled as he looked up from his tablet. "What?"

"Hurry," Ketch snipped under his breath. "Just … Just trust me, alright?"

"Why? What's going on?" Robbie asked, mirroring his father in a skeptical expression.

"Your mother asked me to keep you safe," Ketch replied impatiently, "so that's what I'm doing. Now, let's move."

"But-"

" _Now_ , Robert."

Reluctantly, Robbie stood up and jammed his arms into his striped hoodie. No sooner he was done, Ketch took hold of his upper arm and quietly led him out into the hall and through the back door off the kitchen.

"Where's Mom?" Robbie asked as gravel crunched underfoot, Ketch adamant about leading the boy along.

"Your mother will be fine," Ketch replied half heartedly, sighing a bit as he saw the waiting truck. "Get in."

"But-"

Ketch opened the passenger door and all but shoved Robbie into the vehicle. "No time, lad," he grumbled, shutting it and whipping around to the driver's side. Once in, he jammed the keys in the ignition and started the car as Robbie buckled his seat belt.

"Where's Mom?!" Robbie nearly shouted.

"In the cabin," Ketch replied. The tires spun, kicking up dust and gravel as he steered the vehicle toward the road.

"We can't leave Mom!" Robbie argued, beginning to unbuckle himself.

"Robbie!" Ketch shouted, stopping the boy. "This is what your mother asked me to do, so I'm doing it. Now stay put!"

With hesitance, Robbie flopped back against the seat, craning his neck one more time toward the cabin as it shrunk out of view. "She could _die,_ " he sneered, setting his jaw.

"She won't," Ketch murmured, not fully convinced himself.

"You don't know that!"

"She wanted you safe," Ketch replied, focusing on the dark road he sped down. "Safe from everything."

It was silent for a moment before Robbie glanced at Ketch. "You … You think she went dark?"

"Right," Ketch muttered. "You can read my mind." He sighed. "I don't know, but what I do know is, Rachel would want you safe. And that's what I intend to do-keep you safe."

Blinking a few times, Robbie swallowed hard. He had two choices-help his mom fight, or tell his dad. Neither seemed safe or sure. If his mom lost focus trying to protect him, she could die. If his dad showed up, he could die.

With a deep breath, Robbie gripped Ketch's arm. He silently squeezed a little, successfully teleporting him and Ketch to the bunker. Ketch cried out in surprise through it, they both landing with a hard thud in the maps room.

Dean's cup of coffee sloshed as he whirled around, looking down at the two. "Robbie?" he gasped, setting down the mug and rushing to his nephew. He ignored Ketch as he helped the boy stand, seeing his tear-streaked face. "Robbie," Dean said slowly, keeping down to his level, "what's going on?"

"Werewolves," Robbie managed, sniffling.

"At the cabin?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked up toward Ketch, who was dusting himself off. "Where's Rachel?" he demanded.

"At the cabin," Ketch muttered, seeing the immediate heat in Dean's reaction.

Dean stood and crossed to Ketch. "You left her there?" he snarled.

Ketch held up his hands. "Her request," he defended, though it didn't seem to help.

"You fucking left her there alone?!"

"She … She changed just before Robbie teleported us." Ketch sighed, straightening his shirt. "Of course, the truck is probably totaled-"

"You son of a bitch!" Dean growled, grabbing Ketch's collar. "You were supposed to protect her!"

"I did what she asked," Ketch snipped back, eyeing Dean as he shoved out of Dean's hold.

Shutting his eyes for a minute, Dean whipped out his cell. He furiously punched Sam's number in, waiting with the device to his ear. "Where's Dad?" he heard Robbie ask, trying to ignore telling his nephew the predicament.

"Sam," Dean said, barely giving his brother time to reply, "Rachel's at the cabin alone, and a pack is headed her way."

Sam's stomach sunk as he looked at the dark road he was driving down. "What?!" he shouted.

"Long story. Listen, I'm going to get Robbie to teleport me and a couple other guys there-"

"Robbie's with you?!"

"Him and Ketch."

Sam was on fire. "That son of a bitch-"

"Listen, get there as fast as you can," Dean interrupted.

"Uncle Dean," Robbie said, his face creased with worry, "I don't have enough power to teleport back!"

Dean swallowed hard, his gut sick. He pulled the phone from his face a little as he looked down at Robbie. "What about just one?"

The boy shrugged sadly. "I just feel really weak."

"Dean?!" Sam shouted into the phone, worried more by the silence.

Dean put the phone back to his ear. "Get up there, Sam," he said quietly, briefly biting his lip. "Now."


	92. Chapter 91

Sam's heart raced as he sped up his driving, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. Robbie had done the right thing, coming back, but Ketch's failure to take Rachel made him sick. Could he really blame Ketch, though? Rachel was now possessed and alone in the cabin, aiming to take on a pack of werewolves, all because he refused to let her fight. Even with her powers, the odds were against her. After all, her powers were unpredictable. She wasn't the one in control-she had to rely on an unnamed angel who aligned itself with Michael to protect her vessel. That wasn't nearly enough assurance for him.

Guilt added to the heavy burden of the situation, making his stomach more than sick. Had he just been there for her, instead of being bullheaded, she'd be safe. The speedometer climbed to well over 90mph, the sports car ripping through the darkened mountain road. She would be alright, and he would make things right again.

The car jerked to a harsh stop in the gravel driveway as Sam parked. He barely shut off the engine before bolting out, stopping only long enough to retrieve his gun loaded with silver bullets and his machete. The cabin door was open, the lights on. He didn't see any moving shadows as he cautiously approached, nor did he hear anything. His throat ran dry; he swallowed, drawing in a deep breath through his nose as he readied himself and burst through the entry. Still, nothing could prepare him for the sight he would see.

Blood painted the cabin walls, splatters in nearly every direction. Puddles had formed under the heads of changed wolves, which were severed from their lifeless bodies. Sam took tiny steps, still on guard as he counted. Nine total-some nearly as tall and broad as himself. Wetting his lips, he took a few more steps, cringing as his boot covered foot made a floorboard creak. He paused, hearing something distinct. It made a chill flash over his bared forearms.

Sam followed the sound to a cracked open bedroom door in the rear of the cabin. He paused, his eyes clouding a little with tears. It was such a desperate tone, one that made him ache. He pushed open the door with a gentle touch, revealing Rachel on her knees at the foot of the bed. Desperate, weakened sobs escaped through her quivering lips. She was clean nearly top to bottom, save for a tiny splatter of blood across her shirt. Sam lowered his gun, quickly tucking it into his jeans as he sunk down to her level. He rested his machete down and gently lifted her chin, examining her with an empathetic look. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

Rachel blinked, trying to see Sam through the haze of her tears. His touch was soothing on her wet cheek, a softness behind his calloused fingertips. "Sam," she managed, trying to hold herself together. "I … It …"

"Don't," he assured, laying a gentle finger over her lips. "This is my fault, and mine alone. I just want to make sure you're alright."

"... Yeah. I'm okay."

Sam helped Rachel to stand, immediately drawing her close. "I'm so sorry, baby girl," he whispered into her hair.

Rachel grabbed a fistful of his flannel, clinging to it as he held her. "It's okay," she whispered back, truly ready to put it all behind her. Ketch's advances and the fear of who she became as the Apocalypse World angel was more than she wanted to handle alone. She knew Sam meant his apology, and it was a relief to know he finally understood.

"It's not," Sam insisted, running his fingers through her hair. He kept her pressed to himself, the depth of his ache without her seeming more pronounced the moment he arrived at the cabin. "It's not okay. But I'm gonna fix that."

Rachel gasped with a suddenness that startled Sam as she pulled away from him. "Robbie!"

"He's safe," Sam quickly assured, taking her hands. "He teleported back to the bunker with Ketch."

The mention of Ketch made Rachel queasy. She wasn't sure if Sam noticed her reaction, but tried to hide it anyway. "Oh. That's … That's good."

Sam watched silently as Rachel withdrew from his grip and played with her shirt. She was definitely hiding something—something that was triggered by the mention of Ketch. It shouldn't surprise him. Ketch had been more than obviously interested in her. Sam nearly killed him the last time he for his insinuations alone. He had a choice in that moment—press the subject of Ketch, or help Rachel move past the solo massacre she managed. "Rest," he said quietly, choosing to wait to talk about the elephant in the room. "I'll take care of them."

"Alone?" Rachel asked, halting Sam as he started to move toward the door.

It was a test. Sam knew that. If he wanted to prove he had changed, he had to let her help. "Up to you," he decided to reply, feeling like he was walking on eggshells.

Rachel felt the same way, but tried to hide it. Between their fight, the secrets, and now the bloody mess, things had grown incredibly awkward. "I'll help," she said softly, moving past Sam and into the living room.

* * *

It seemed to take forever, but a couple hours later, the cabin was back to somewhat normal. A few textiles were beyond help, but the floors and walls were spotless. Rachel's arms ached from the intense scrubbing as she watched Sam light the wolf corpses on fire. The scent of burnt flesh made her nose wrinkle. As the flames grew hungrier and taller, she slipped away back to the cabin.

Sam didn't fail to notice, but he also didn't question it. Someone needed to maintain the fire, and he knew that when they finally did talk, she deserved his undivided attention. With a sigh, Sam looked back at the flames, watching them hiss and pop. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang. _Dean again._ Dean had called a couple times before, panicked on the first and only slightly less on the second. "Yeah," he said roughly, backing away from the fire a couple steps.

"You two coming back down tonight?" Dean asked. "Little Man is asking."

Sam sniffed, looking toward the lit cabin. "Might be in the morning. The cabin was pretty wrecked."

"Robbie's worried." Dean sighed. "Kid wants to teleport but I told him you had it handled."

"Let me talk to him."

Sam waited as Dean handed off the phone. "Dad?" Robbie asked.

"Hey buddy," Sam said, smiling a little almost involuntarily. The sound of the boy's voice was assuring. "Listen, everything is fine up here, okay? I need you to rest up for when Mom and I get home."

"Is Mom okay?" Robbie asked.

Sam heard the clear concern in Robbie's voice. "She's alright," he replied. "We just need you to rest, 'kay? Get some sleep and listen to Uncle Dean."

"Yes, sir."

"Love you, buddy."

"Love you, Dad."

The silence that filled his ears after Robbie hung up made Sam's stomach sicker than it already was. Nothing was alright about any of it, including Rachel. She was likely in the cabin, beating herself up over something she had little to no control over. She didn't need the weight of that guilt, but he didn't know how to take it from her.

Forty-five minutes later, the bodies were burnt down enough for Sam's liking. It was freezing outside; he kept his hands jammed into his coat pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit to generate body heat. He extinguished the remaining flames, glancing back at the cabin. From the outside, it looked warm and inviting. But he knew what darkness lingered inside, including his own need for apology.

Exhaling deeply, Sam crossed the gravel drive and entered the cabin, gently locking it behind himself and flicking off the porch light switch. He could smell Rachel before he saw her, the lavender notes of her freshly shampooed hair drawing him to the back bedroom like a moth to a flame. Maybe she'd be too tired to talk, and he could just lose himself in her embrace for the night. Still, when he entered the bedroom, he knew he was wrong.

An undeniable air of cool tension rippled through, gripping Sam as he shut the door with a soft click. Rachel sat on the edge of the mattress on the right, her back to him as she coerced a brush through her wet hair. Sam swallowed; his mind ached just as much as his body did. He wanted to avoid the painful part of healing from the equation, but knew he couldn't. Silently, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair next to him, his flannel over his tee following suit. Warm cabin air flowed over his skin, but he still suppressed a shiver. "Can we talk?" he finally managed, unsure of the integrity of his voice.

Rachel paused for a barely noticeable moment, keeping her back to him. "Sure," she replied, resuming her task.

Sam sat down slowly on the foot of the bed. "I … I just want you to know that I meant what I said," he began. "I meant it when I said that _none_ of this is your fault."

"I'm the one who tore them apart," Rachel countered, darkened doubt tainting her tone.

"The angel inside you did."

"Still my hands."

Sam looked over his left shoulder at Rachel. She was fiddling with the brush. "It's _not_ your fault."

Rachel was quiet for a long moment. "If Robbie hadn't left …" Her voice trailed off, barely a whisper.

Sam shifted to sit next to her, taking the brush and tossing it aside. "Don't," he warned, holding her hands.

"If Robbie hadn't left," Rachel continued, stronger this time, "then he could've died. Because of me. How is that not my fault?"

" _I'm_ the one who drove you here," Sam countered.

"Well, _I'm_ the one that took that rogue grace."

"For _Dean_."

"Sam—"

"Rachel, you were trying to save Dean." He watched her, waiting for her response that didn't come. "It's not like you did it out of spite. It was an accident." He sighed, combing her hair behind her ear. "That's why you can't shoulder this blame. Because it's not on you. It's not your fault."

"I still made choices, Sam," Rachel reminded him.

"So did I, when I was drinking demon blood."

"And you took the guilt for it."

"This is different."

"How?"

"It just is."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't make any sense!"

Sam shook his head. "Why does it matter, when I'm trying to tell you you don't have to worry?"

"It matters because I don't accept your explanation."

"What?! Sweetheart," Sam sighed, his brow wrinkled, "it's done. It's over."

Rachel scoffed. "Right. So, since you're okay, I am now too, apparently."

Sam hesitated. Her tone was cooler than he expected. It caught him off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, brow wrinkled.

Rachel began twisting at her fingers, as if she was suppressing something, turning away from him slightly. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No, we're talking about this," Sam argued, watching her intently.

"I don't want to."

"We need to."

She looked like steam trapped under the lid of a boiling pot of water. "Oh, I forgot—what you say becomes law."

Scoffing, Sam shook his head. "What?!"

Rachel took on a snippier tone. "Don't act dumb.

It's your M.O. — 'If Sam Winchester says it, it shall be done.'"

"You're making me out to be some kind of control freak."

"And you're not?"

Sam paused, entirely confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. He swallowed hard as a thought crossed his mind. "Rachel, is this … Is this not …?" He gestured vaguely, though she immediately knew what he meant.

"Wow," Rachel said, eyeing him as she pushed to her feet. "So because I called you on your shit, I must not be me, right?" She shook her head, pacing a step or two away. "No, _Sam_ , I'm me right now, not the angel, _okay_?"

"Then why are you acting like this?" he blurted, exasperated as he stood.

"Like what?" she countered, turning back to look up at him. "Like someone who's mad?"

Sam held his arms up at his sides. "All I'm trying to do is help you to see you're not at fault! How is that bad?"

"Because it _is_ my fault, Sam!" Rachel snapped. "You _don't_ get to decide how _I_ feel! Know why? News flash: It isn't about _all about_ _you. I_ killed those wolves. _I_ killed the demons. And _I_ nearly killed Bobby." She paced away, still enraged. " _I_ chose to go to Philadelphia. _I_ chose to risk things. _I_ chose to come here. Are you seeing a pattern yet?" She paused, looking up at him. "If not, let me give you a hint — the blame is _also mine_."

"I'm only trying to help!" Sam argued.

"And I'm only trying to be heard for a change!" Rachel argued back.

"'For a change?'"

"Don't act like you deserve a Listener Of The Year award."

"I am listening! But I don't understand why you are so intent on weighing yourself down with guilt."

Rachel's head lolled back, and she looked at the ceiling with a frustrated growl. "I'm not trying to be a martyr, Sam. I'm simply trying to illustrate why _you_ don't get to decide every aspect of my life, including my guilt!" She raised her head, glaring at him. "And by you swooping up here, trying to tell me it's not my fault, trying to fix everything by refusing to treat me like an equal human being with her own choices … all you're doing is proving him right!"

Sam's blood ran cold at the pronoun. "Proving _who_ right?" he asked, bitterness seeping through his voice.

Rachel eyed him, her pulse racing. "You know damn well who."

Sam's breathing quickened as he drew in sharps bursts of air through his nose. All words seemed to be lodged in his throat, none escaping for a long moment as he stared her down. "What did he say?" he finally asked, regretting the question as it rolled off his tongue.

Shaking her head, Rachel sighed. "Nothing," she decided to reply, pressing her fingers into her temples and rubbing.

Nostrils flared, Sam gave a cool laugh. "Right. That'll be the day." He stepped closer, adrenaline pumping as he examined her. She was dismissive, closed off. And what she was concealing drove him wild. "So, what 'heartfelt' insight did he bestow on you?" His tone was dripping with enraged bitterness.

"I'm done with this," Rachel snipped, lowering her hand.

"That slimy sack of shit," Sam growled. "I swear to God, I'll kill him."

Rachel looked up at him. "For what? Doing what you asked?"

Sam swallowed, jaw ticking. "I asked him to watch you both. Not to poison you."

"'Poison' me?" Rachel laughed. "So, because I dare to disagree, Ketch 'poisoned' me?"

"That son of a bitch knows how to get in your head," Sam snarled. "Do you think it's for your benefit?"

"He was only telling the truth."

"Oh yeah? And what 'truth' was that?"

"Well, for one, he said you suck at listening, which he's obviously not wrong about." Rachel watched as Sam snorted through his nose, jaw flexing as he shook his head in disbelief. She narrowed her eyes, continuing. "He also wasn't afraid to help me see how selfish you've been for the entire duration of our relationship."

"Selfish," he repeated back with a nod. His hands flexed at his sides as he tried to bite back molten hot rage. "So, me wanting to keep you and Robbie safe—that's selfish, huh?"

"You don't get it!" Rachel shouted, exasperated as she threw her hands up. "Maybe _you_ think it's all noble, but did you ask _us_ what _we_ wanted?"

"So, you don't want to be safe," Sam concluded indignantly.

Rachel gave a frustrated growl. "For fuck sake! Will you just listen? Just for one minute?"

Sam swiped at his nose, his voice raising. "I _am_ listening _._ And all I'm hearing is that Ketch is miraculously wise, freely offering relationship 'advice' to an emotionally fragile woman. Wow! What a guy! I mean, he _couldn't_ _possibly_ have selfish intentions, right?" He stepped closer to her, the gap more than bridged, sarcasm thick. "He _couldn't_ _possibly_ be playing with you, trying to take advantage of the situation. You know, because he wants to bed you, and hasn't ever failed to make that known."

Rachel swallowed hard, her blood boiling as it screamed through her veins. " _You_ sent him here, Sam," she replied, her tone lowered but still jagged. "Instead of coming up yourself, _you_ sent _him_." The words were a bucket of salt in Sam's festering wounds. He froze, unable to reply. "And even if he is an opportunistic asshole," she continued, "he's certainly not wrong about you."

Silence spread between them for several moments, thick and oppressing. Neither moved, each bent and determined as they stared the other down.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sam's gaze finally dropped to the floor. Rachel blinked rapidly, her vision clouding as she bit back her tears. "So," she whispered, her voice broken, "is this it? Because … I can't keep doing this, Sam. I can't keep … begging you to trust me. I … I deserve more."

"Do you … Do you want this to be over?" Sam asked, pained.

"I want _this_ to be over," she replied softly, looking at him.

Sam's fingers flexed by his sides. "Because of him," he concluded, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"No. Not because of him. Because of _this._ " Rachel gestured between them; Sam caught the meaning. "I want this elephant in the room to die. It's been here long enough. It can't be ignored anymore."

Slowly, Sam nodded, looking up at her with classy eyes. "You're right. It can't."

Rachel moved to him, taking his hand. "Then just _trust in me_. Let me be your partner. Let me stand beside you, not behind you."

Sam examined her for a long moment, feeling the soft warmth of her skin against his. "You could die," he whispered, his voice breaking. A tear escaped, trailing down his bearded cheek. "An-And I don't know if I could …" He wet his lips, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "I can't lose you," he concluded, shaking his head. "I just can't."

"You won't," she assured gently.

"Yeah, I will," Sam argued back a bit louder. "Because _that's_ what happens. And I won't let it."

Rachel's lips parted gently. Wasn't he going to fight for them to be together? Her heart raced, feeling as if he was slipping through her fingertips. Did he not want to try to heal things? Was he refusing to trust her? Was this really the end?


	93. Chapter 92

Hesitantly, Rachel twisted at the engagement ring on her left hand, sliding it down her finger at a painfully slow pace. When it was finally freed, she rolled it between the pads of her fingertips for a moment, noting a small spot of bright red blood she hadn't seen that clung to the band. "Then I guess you'll want this back," she concluded in a soft voice, holding out the ring to him.

Sam recoiled from it. "No," he argued.

"Sam, it's all or nothing," Rachel insisted, still holding it out. "I can't wear this if you can't let me live my own life."

Shutting his eyes, Sam swiped away the tears that kept rolling down his face. "Baby girl," he whispered as he opened his eyes, desperate. "I … I can't lose you."

Rachel's own eyes brimmed with tears. "Looks like you already have."

"Don't say that."

"Sam—"

"Please," Sam begged, ignoring the ring as he took her free hand into both of his. "Please."

"Please what?" Rachel sighed, confused.

Sam tightened his grip on her, carefully selecting his words. "Please … Please don't …" He exhaled heavily, a small tear rolling down his cheek. "Please come home."

Rachel's brow wrinkled as she examined Sam. He was teetering, so stuck between his desire for her safety and granting her freedom. Still, he wouldn't choose. His lack of choice was choice enough.

Slowly, Rachel bent open Sam's hand, pressing the ring into his palm. "I'm going back for Robbie," she said matter-of-factly, staring at his tanned skin. She couldn't help but notice how long Sam's love line on his palm was. "And to fight Michael. But after that, we're leaving."

Sam's stomach wrenched at the thought. He knew he had a limited time to fix things, to try to get things back to the way they were before. There was nothing more he regretted in life than not saying anything as Rachel pulled her hands away from him, leaving the tiny band glittering in his palm. He blinked rapidly, tears fluttering against his lashes as he tried to focus on the diamond. He could hear her walking away toward the bed. That was it. She was serious. And he was an idiot who couldn't seem to say the words he knew somewhere deep inside he should have.

* * *

The ride back to the bunker was more than tense, neither saying anything during the nearly four hours they drove together. Rachel stared at the wooded scenery that flashed by her passenger side window, running her index finger over the top edge of the door panel. Had she been too hard on Sam? Should she just forget it all, and try to ignore the anger his stubbornness stirred within?

Meanwhile, Sam was contemplating how to undo the damage he had done. He knew it would require him to loosen his grip, though he wasn't even sure he had one now. Could he ask for forgiveness? Would he be able to watch her out there, knowing the angel inside her could use her body at any moment for its own sinister plans?

They arrived back at the bunker, each hesitating as Sam shut off the ignition to the car in the garage. "We should …" Rachel hesitated, feeling Sam's eyes on her as she focused on her lap. "We should try to remain amicable. For Robbie."

Sam swallowed, giving a slight nod. He looked her over, his lips parting to say something. "Rachel?" he whispered.

Rachel looked at him, seeing her pain mirrored in his eyes. "Yeah?" She was hopeful that Sam was finally coming to his senses, that he'd see her point.

Hesitating, Sam held back frustrated tears. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't bear the thought of sending her into battle, knowing she could be decimated with a simple trigger of the angel inside of her. If she remained home, she was safe. Or so he chose to believe. From the bunker, he could work on extracting the angel. Who knew what would happen if she was in the field with foreign power. He couldn't endorse it. Wetting his lips, Sam chose to look away, climbing out of the car without a word.

Rachel exhaled deeply, shutting her eyes. She had hoped Sam would change his mind. But it seemed like that was futile.

* * *

Things only got worse when Sam and Rachel entered the library to see Bobby and Mary together. Sam cleared his throat, offering a flash of a forced smile mainly to his mother before busying himself with unloading gear.

"Rachel," Mary sighed, warmth emanating from her smile. Rachel responded in kind, though she knew it severely lacked the same depth as Mary's. She tried to fake it, but she was hurting too deeply to be very effective. Mary embraced her, momentarily smoothing her hair in a maternal fashion. "Thank God you're alright."

"Mom!"

The women parted as Robbie flashed into the room, bounding over toward his mother. Rachel exhaled as she caught him and lifted him up, holding him close. "My baby boy," she whispered against him, grateful to have her son safely in her arms, feeling tears threaten her eyes.

"What was it like?" Bobby asked, slicing through the moment from across the room. His voice was gruff, his mannerisms mirroring it. Bobby's question caught Sam's attention. He paused from the opposite side of the room, eyeing Bobby.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, beating him to the punch, her stomach knotting as she tightened her grip on Robbie. She knew where Bobby was headed, but didn't truly want to face it.

"The wolves," Bobby said with a calmness that made Rachel uneasy. "Took 'em all on your own?"

"... Yes, but—"

"Mm-hm. How'd you do it?"

"That's enough," Sam warned, stepping down toward him.

Bobby ignored him and looked at Rachel. "So, how'd you do it? Weapon, or just with a wave of your hand?"

"I said, that's _enough_ ," Sam repeated, moving closer. His nostrils flared as he looked down at Bobby.

"You're a damn fool if you think she's not a flight risk for everyone in this bunker," Bobby snapped, glaring at Sam.

"She's _not._ She's one of us."

Bobby scoffed. "With Michael's comrade in her head? I don't think so. I think all her massacres have proved that she ain't anything close to being _one of us._ Not anymore."

Unaware of the full conversation, Dean intercepted Sam as he entered the library from the other room. "Easy," he urged his brother as Sam pressed against him toward Bobby. "What's going on here?"

"Bobby was about to apologize to Rachel, weren't you?" Sam answered, his tone darkened.

Bobby laughed. "Boy, I ain't apologizing for the damn truth." He looked to Rachel. "I don't know about you, but I've seen more than my fair share of angel handiwork. It ain't pretty. How do we know she won't try to rip all our heads off one day?"

Dean held Sam back, forcing his brother to remain away from Bobby. "Bobby," Mary said with a cool calmness, "you need to choose your words carefully. She's family."

"That's my point," Bobby replied, looking to her. "Hell, her own fiancé won't let her out of the bunker because he's too scared of what might happen. Yet, I'm the bad guy here."

"You're treating her like an animal," Sam spat, pushing against Dean.

"I'm calling it as I see it," Bobby corrected. He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "You know just as well as I do that at any time she is exposed to something that sets her off, she's a loose cannon. And we don't even know the half of what that is."

"She's in control," Sam growled.

"Then why ain't she out on hunts?" Bobby countered. He shook his head at Sam's silence. "If you thought she'd be safe out there, she would've been in the field a long time ago. You know as well as I do that it's a bad risk."

"Go cool down, Bobby," Dean instructed, his voice firm. He kept his grip on Sam as Bobby grumbled, stalking away toward the halls that led to the bedrooms. Mary reluctantly followed, hoping to help him calm down.

When they were out of sight, Dean released Sam, who shook him a little off himself. "Easy, Sammy," Dean urged.

"Dean—"

"Easy," Dean repeated. "Look, we're all a little worn out. Let's just take a breath and—"

"He can kiss my ass!" Sam growled, pacing like a caged lion.

"You can't fault him for a valid concern," Rachel interjected.

"It's _not_ valid, because you're _not_ a criminal!"

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Then remind me of why I'm _not_ out on hunts, according to you."

Sam paused, shaking his head. "We went over this—"

"And it's the _same damn reason_ Bobby just gave," Rachel interrupted, setting Robbie down. Robbie tensed, his focus flicking between his mother and father as they argued.

"So I'm scared of what we don't know," Sam said, raising his hands in question. "It doesn't mean he needs to treat you like you're Michael."

"Being _locked_ in the bunker isn't much different than a prison. And isn't prison where criminals go? Like Michael?"

"Alright," Dean said, unsure as he held his hands up to Rachel and Sam, between them. "Let's just take it easy—"

"So, what is it—because _Bobby_ said it," Rachel continued, seeing Sam's jaw tick, "it's not true, right?"

"I'm _not_ just trying to _be right_ ," Sam argued.

"Then what, Sam? What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to defend you!"

"Just stop!" Robbie shouted, his eyes filled with tears as he froze each of them in place. Even Rachel, who couldn't seem to effectively counter the boy's power.

"Robbie," Sam said, his voice strained as he felt his body clamp itself together, "it's okay—"

"No it's not!" Robbie argued, sniffling. "Stop fighting!"

"We will," Rachel tried to assure, pained as she looked down at her small son. "Robbie, I know you're scared, but you need to let us go."

"You're just going to fight!"

"We … We won't, baby."

The boy looked to Dean, studying him for the briefest of moments. "Uncle Dean doesn't believe you, so I don't either."

Dean sighed. "Robbie—"

"Just stop!" Robbie shouted. "All grownups do are fight and lie!"

Sam bit back a tear as he tried to fight his son's grip, wanting to kneel gently to his level but failing. "Robbie, I know there has been a lot of fighting. And you're right, it's not good. Sometimes, problems have to be worked out and—"

Robbie eyes his father. "You're just mad at Bobby because you're scared he's right!"

Sam swallowed, glancing to Rachel before returning his focus to Robbie. "You're right. I am afraid. And so are you. But we can't work out these fears if we don't talk about them, or try to help each other."

Robbie looked to Rachel, swiping under his sniffling nose with the back of his hand. "I just want us to be a family."

"We are, baby," Rachel assured, broken at her son's hurt. "Nothing changes that."

"She's right," Dean added, gaining Robbie's attention. "Your mom is one of the strongest women I'll ever know. There isn't anything she can't do." He looked Robbie over. "Everything is going to be just fine, alright buddy? You just have to let us go, and take a deep breath."

A few beats later, each of the adults were released. The force from the withdraw nearly knocked them over, each sighing in relief as Robbie yanked his hood over his head. Before anyone could say anything, Robbie flapped away, leaving the three pained in the library. Dean wet his lips. "I'll find him," he said, a stern edge to his voice, "but you two need to finish this. Right here, right now."

"Don't bother," Rachel replied, looking to Sam. "I think we've said all we can." She flapped away, leaving the brothers together.

Sam yanked at his hair in frustration and growled, Dean watching. "Screw Bobby. Who does he think he is?" Sam demanded. "That's my fiancée he's talking about!"

Dean pressed his lips together. "Is it?"

Sam paused. "What do you mean?"

"The ring, Sam. It's not on her."

Sam rubbed his temples. "I don't want to talk about it."

"So, clearly, Bobby isn't far off base," Dean concluded. "You just don't want to admit he's right, like the kid said." He held up his hand as Sam glared at him. "Look, she's family. I'd do anything for that girl. But Bobby's got reason to be scared. We don't know what we're dealing with, or when we're going to deal with it."

"She's still _Rachel_ ," Sam retorted.

"Exactly. Which is why she deserves your trust. Just because Bobby's right doesn't mean she doesn't deserve a chance. And that's all that Rachel wants—a chance. That's the difference. You and Bobby want to keep her locked away. She needs her family."

Sam looked toward where Rachel had stood, exhaling deeply. He nodded a little, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.

As Sam set off to find Rachel, Ketch rounded the corner to the library, stunned by Sam's presence. "You're back," he said, a bit quieter than usual. He had no doubt that Rachel conveyed either their conversation or the principals of it to Sam from the death glare he received.

"You son of a bitch," Sam snarled, charging him and taking his jacket.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, ripping Sam off of Ketch. "Relax, Sam!"

"The hell I will! This asshole has done nothing but feed Rachel bullshit at her weakest!"

" _You_ asked me to watch her, as I recall," Ketch shot back, straightening a little. "It's not my problem you weren't willing to discuss things with her yourself."

Sam's nostrils flared. The only thing that kept him from decking Ketch was that he _was_ the one who sent him. It was a dumb move on his part, one he couldn't blame Ketch for. "Leave," he ordered, shaking Dean off himself, "and if you ever come into contact with Rachel again, I'll kill you."

Ketch arched a brow. "I protect her and your son, _as you ask_ , and I'm the criminal?"

"I said, _leave._ "

"My flight isn't scheduled to leave for another week," Ketch shrugged. "Suppose it'll have to wait until then."

Dean snagged Sam's arm as he went after Ketch, halting him from pursuing his target. "Focus," he ordered. "Go figure this out with Rachel right now. Your boy deserves that much."

With a growl, Sam stalked away, leaving Dean sighing deeply as he tried to make sense of it all. If Sam and Rachel didn't reunite, Robbie was bound to fly the coop. "Robbie," Dean called out, sure the boy wouldn't answer. He shook his head, heading toward the bedrooms in search of his nephew.


	94. Chapter 93

_**LMK what you think - think Rachel and Sam will make it? Want them to split? I love feedback, so leave me some whatever it is! 3**_

* * *

When Sam didn't find Rachel in their shared bedroom, he combed through the rest of the bunker, panicked when he didn't see her. "Give her time," he heard Mary say behind him. Sam spun around, looking at his mom. "She saw me before she left. She went to cool off."

"Did she say where?" Sam asked, trying to swallow back his disapproval.

Mary shook her head. "She'll be fine, Sam," she assured gently, taking her son's upper arm in her hand. "You'll both be, once you learn how to live with each other just as she is."

Sam exhaled through his nose. "Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"The sooner you stop making it complicated, it will be." Mary patted her son, sighing. "Dean's got Robbie. He could use some assurance from his father, I'm sure."

Sam focused on the floor. He felt guilt choking at him. "I'm a shit father," he sighed.

"Far from it," Mary corrected in a stern voice. "You've been dealt a hand that isn't easy. That boy adores you, though."

"I promised …" Sam sniffed, looking up and over Mary's shoulder. "I promised Rachel a normal life. I … I knew I'd never be able to give her one. But I wanted it so much for her."

"Normal is relative," Mary assured.

"She's our strongest weapon, Mom. Her and Robbie. My fiancée and my son." He looked to his mother. "How could I ever let them face Michael?"

"Them facing Michael is one small possibility. There is more to your lives than just that. So _live it_. They will, whether you're there or not. So be there. Be right there with them. By their sides."

Sam wet his lips, softly nodding as he processed his mother's words. Danger was inevitable, but his time with his family was limited. And he was wasting it trying to lock them away. He couldn't afford any more stubbornness. Life was so fleeting, and he wanted nothing more than to put the ring in his pocket back on Rachel's finger. She deserved a husband who would trust her. Robbie deserved a father who gave him the best example. They both deserved more than his selfishness. He pressed a soft kiss onto his mother's cheek, then slipped past her in the hall toward the kitchen.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Ketch at the table alone, sipping a cup of tea. Nostrils flared, he hovered in the hall for a moment before squeezing his eyes tightly shut. If he wanted to focus on his time with Rachel, he certainly couldn't afford to prove Ketch right. With a quick inhale, Sam moved past him, opening the fridge and withdrawing a beer. He kept his back to Ketch as he popped the top and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he set the beer down and braced himself against the counter. He grimaced as he tried to force the words from his brain to his mouth. "Thank you for watching over them," he managed, knowing it sounded as stiff and forced as it felt.

Ketch arched a brow as he sipped his tea. "No need to thank me. I'm happy to help."

Sam ground his molars together, his grip tightening on the counter. "I'm sure you are," he muttered under his breath. With a deep inhale, Sam paused. _He_ sent Ketch. That was something he couldn't blame anyone but himself for. Sam straightened, snagging his beer and drinking while keeping his back to Ketch. "You said your flight is next week?" he asked.

"Next Tuesday," Ketch replied, sipping his tea. "I had anticipated on a bit more time spent up north."

Swallowing back his anger, Sam focused on the countertop. "Well, sorry for the confusion."

"I'm just happy they are safe," Ketch insisted. He cleared his throat, resting the cup on the table. "I'll take it as you'd rather me find somewhere else to stay in the meantime."

"We need all the space we can get for the refugees."

"Ah. And it wouldn't have anything to do with me being in proximity to Rachel?"

Sam turned, eyeing him, feeling his blood pressure rising. "Regardless of what you did for them, you need to back off of her."

Ketch held his hands up. "I'm merely trying to be a good friend."

With a scoff, Sam's tone grew darker. "Oh, I know damn well what you're trying," he said, taking a step closer. "And that's the very last thing it is."

A small smile played at Ketch's lips. "Can't handle a bit of truth, Sam? Nothing I've said to Rachel is a secret to anyone. And I gather you're painfully aware of that, which is why you'd rather I'd leave."

Before Sam could reply, Robbie flapped into the kitchen. His hood was still drawn over his thick mane of dark waves, his green eyes narrowed as he focused on his father. "Grandma said you wanted to see me," he explained, glancing over at Ketch.

With one final venomous glare at Ketch, Sam gently guided Robbie out of the kitchen. "Want to play catch?" he asked his son, who clearly was surprised.

"I thought … I thought you were gonna yell," Robbie admitted.

Sam's heart clenched at the thought. "No. I actually really need to ask for your forgiveness." Pausing with his son in the maps room, he squatted down to the boy's level. "I've been so busy worrying about keeping you and Mom safe that I haven't been a good dad." He sighed, wetting his lips. "Robbie, I … When your mom first told me she was pregnant, I was never more happy in my entire life. And never more scared. And I still feel those two things just as much now. I guess dads never stop worrying, even if their son is a smart, powerful kid. The thing is, I let all my worrying stop me from being who you really need me to be, and who your mom needs me to be. I want to change that. I want you to feel safe and protected, but I want you to be a _kid._ I want you to experience everything a kid should. And I want you to know that even if our lives are very different from other people's, we are still people. And people deserve family who stands behind them, even if they're really scared, like me." He moved some hair from his son's rounded eyes, remembering the first time he saw him after Rachel's death. He was more grown now, but the innocent boy in the dark was very much present. "Can you forgive me?" Sam asked softly, taking hold of the boy's shoulder.

Robbie nodded vigorously, wrapping his dad into a tight hug. Sam winced, the power behind his son's embrace somewhat painful. "Sorry," Robbie said quickly, backing away.

"Don't be," Sam insisted, drawing him back to his chest. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for." He dug his fingers into Robbie's thick hair, sighing as he pressed him to his chest. "Okay?"

"Okay," Robbie replied, slightly muffled by Sam's shirt.

Sam held his son to his chest, silent for a long pause. He stared at the concrete wall behind Robbie, wishing Rachel would forgive him as easily. He had no idea if she would, or if he even deserved the gift of it. Still, he couldn't bear the thought of the only other outcome, the one where the ring in his pocket remained in his pocket.

"Come on," Sam said, letting a small smile creep onto his face. He pulled away from Robbie, ruffling his hair. "Go grab the ball and the mitt."

Robbie grinned, then disappeared, the echo of his wings a further reminder of just how "not normal" his son's life was. _All the more reason to play catch._

* * *

Rachel flashed into the entryway to the kitchen, surprised that Sam wasn't in there nursing a beer. Instead, Ketch was at the sink, rinsing out a mug. The last thing she wanted to do was engage with him, but she didn't have a choice as he looked over his shoulder and spotted her. "Your fiancé is with Robbie," Ketch said, returning his focus to the sink.

"Robbie?" Rachel asked, her voice small.

"Mm-hm."

For a long moment, Rachel hovered in the entryway, tracing the wood grain of the doorframe with her fingertip. She knew she had to shut Ketch down once and for all, but it always seemed hard to fight his truths. "We aren't broken," she finally said, trying to muster conviction.

Ketch paused for only a moment, then finished rinsing off the sponge he used for washing. He shut off the tap, drying his hands on a nearby towel as he turned to her. "Your lack of ring says otherwise," he replied, chucking the towel onto the counter.

Rachel drew in a quivered breath. "You need to stop," she said, holding his gaze. "There's nothing here. There never was."

Nodding, Ketch stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaning against the counter behind him. "Each time we've interacted, you've avoided answering one simple question I've asked." He lifted his chin a little. "If you'd be willing to truthfully answer it, I'd be willing to walk away."

"And what question is that?"

"Whether or not you think Sam will ever give you the life you deserve." Ketch smiled softly as he watched her reaction. "And every time I ask it, you hesitate."

"Because the answer is none of your business," Rachel replied, eyeing him.

"It's a fairly straightforward question, Rachel. Surely one you'd answer with confidence if you had any."

"I'll repeat myself: It's _none_ of your business. Anyway, my answer or lack thereof proves nothing."

"Proves quite a bit to me."

"I don't care about proving myself to you."

"Just to Sam."

Rachel tensed, taking a step closer. "Why are you doing this? Why … Why are you so bent on this?"

Ketch straightened, taking his hands out of his pockets. "Because in front of me is a remarkable woman who's pissing her life away for a man who has no faith in her. Can't help but want to offer you more."

"I don't want 'more' with you," Rachel replied, feeling her pulse quicken.

"You can't deny the chemistry," Ketch said in a soft tone. "Nor can you deny your desires for a more fulfilling life."

"Yes, I can."

"Then answer my question, and I'll be on my way."

"I don't have to prove shit to you."

"You don't. So, prove it to yourself." Rachel swallowed as Ketch took a couple steps closer. "Prove that you've all the faith in the world in Sam, even though he doesn't in you. Prove that you believe Sam will let go and give you back your life."

Rachel's lips parted as she went to speak, silent as she looked at Ketch. "I … I believe he will," she replied softly, not even convincing herself.

Ketch smiled knowingly, giving a nod. "Then I'll be on my way." He paused as he moved to leave the room, standing next to Rachel. He wet his lips. "It may be an answer, but it's a lie. You and I both know that." He leaned in a touch closer. "As I've said before, you deserve far more than a prison built by Samuel Winchester. Perhaps you should consider it."

As Ketch left, Rachel remained, frozen in place. Her stomach felt sick. Was Ketch right? Did she not believe that Sam could change? Was her life with him doomed? She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the empty space behind her. Shutting her eyes, she hung her head. She had no doubt Ketch was right. She didn't have faith in Sam. But Ketch had faith in her. Wasn't that what she wanted? To be with someone who showed that he trusted her? Believed in her?

 _Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!_

With a high pitched growl, Rachel opened her eyes and stretched out her hands, blasting the tall rack of pots and pans in front of her to the ground in a furious heap. Beams of energy burst from her palms in an intensity she never felt before, her emotions charging her beyond what she knew possible. The pots rattled and banged with their impact, the metal rack crashing on top with a thunderous boom. The concrete behind it burst, chunks of stone raining over the destruction and crushing everything in its path.

It didn't take long before rushed footsteps approached, Dean the first to arrive at the scene. His lips parted as he looked at the destruction, then down at Rachel, who had collapsed. "Rach!" He quickly moved to her side, turning her face toward him and examining her. "Shit, kiddo," he whispered, pressing his two fingers to her pulse point on her neck.

Mary and Bobby were next to arrive, Mary immediately approaching as Bobby lingered behind. "Is she okay?" she asked Dean.

"Pulse is weak," Dean replied, scooping Rachel up into his arms. "I'm gonna get her in bed. Find Sam."

Without waiting for anything else, Dean took Rachel down the hall, not looking at Bobby as he passed. Bobby sighed, looking at the destruction. "She did this, Mary," he noted quietly. "And it seems to be for no reason."

Mary shook her head. "Bobby—"

"They said she was only turning when she was provoked. Now, it seems like it's a running tap."

"She's fine," Mary insisted, cutting him off before he could object. "She will be fine."

As Mary left in the same direction as Dean, Bobby exhaled deeply. Despite what they all said, Rachel was proving herself to being a danger, just as he predicted. It wasn't something he wanted to do, but he knew what had to be done. And he would do it alone if it meant protecting everyone else.


	95. Chapter 94

Sam grinned widely as he watched Robbie catch yet another throw of the worn baseball, undoubtedly proud of the boy. The time spent with him outside behind the bunker felt great. There were no monsters, no impending war, no threats that needed his attention. It was just him and Robbie. The cool air breezed by them, slightly changing the trajectory of Robbie's speedy throw. Sam caught it, but not without a bit of relief as he held it. "You've got a good arm," Sam remarked, laughing as Robbie's chest clearly puffed in pride.

"I think it's the angel juice," Robbie replied with a shrug.

"Nah. It's your talent." Sam tossed the ball back, allowing himself to relish the moment. When Rachel got back, it was her turn to see how her life should be, which was far from how Sam had made it to be so far. He was tempted to ask Robbie to reach out to her on his behalf, the text messages and calls he made going unanswered.

"You're worried about Mom," Robbie concluded, twisting the ball into his mitt.

"I just … want her to be safe," Sam explained.

Robbie nodded, choosing not to reply otherwise. He tossed the ball to his father, more gently than he had been. It still tore across the space between them like a comet. Sam snatched it, laughing at the thud it made into his mitt. He'd never get tired of just how fascinating Robbie was. This small child was quite possibly the most powerful being to ever exist, and yet here he was, playing catch with him. Nothing about it made any real sense, but it didn't matter to Sam. Robbie was his son, who just happened to be half demon and half angel. But always his son first.

Leaves crunching underfoot caught Sam's attention. He looked to his right, his brow wrinkling when he saw Mary in the distance. From what he could tell, she looked very distressed. He swallowed hard, attempting not to immediately react for Robbie's sake. "Come here, buddy," he said quietly to him, his focus still on his mother.

Mary closed in on them, slowing as she was within a few feet. "Sam," she said, a desperation to her tone, "we need you both back at the bunker."

Sam's jaw ticked as he looked at his mother. "What's wrong?"

"It's …" She paused, then exhaled a sigh. "It's Rachel."

Sam took Robbie's hand and held it with a tender but firm grip. He wordlessly led him and Mary back to the cabin, his mind spinning. "What happened?" he asked with urgency as they jogged back.

"She collapsed," Mary replied, seeing Sam's fearful reaction. "We aren't sure why, but we think it's related to the angel."

"Son of a bitch," Sam snarled, unconsciously tightening his grip on Robbie. "How is she?"

"Her pulse is weak. She's unconscious. Not looking like she will wake any time soon."

Sam stopped, looking down at Robbie. He took the other mitt from the boy, pained. "Can you go see her?" he asked.

Robbie nodded, then flapped away. No sooner he was gone, Sam was back at his hurried pace. "How do you know it's related to the angel?" he asked Mary.

"There was a giant hole in the kitchen wall."

Sam looked at her, his brow arched. "She blew a hole in the wall?"

"Apparently. And over exerted herself. Maggie said she thought she heard someone screaming."

It didn't make sense. Why blow a hole in the kitchen wall? There was no one in there when he left besides …

 _Ketch._

Sam growled under his breath. "That son of a bitch!" he snarled, his pace quickening.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Mary asked, more than a bit panicked at her son's burst of rage.

"Ketch," he snapped, "that's what's wrong."

"He wasn't with her."

"Doesn't matter. I'm sure he had everything to do with it."

Mary grabbed Sam's arm, halting him. "Sam, you need to keep your head on straight," she warned. Sam panted as he looked down at her. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack over him," she added, a knowing look on her face. "You need to show Rachel you've changed if you want to get things back to where they were before. And jumping to conclusions isn't the way."

Sam scoffed. "You don't know the _half_ of what I've seen with that asshole when it comes to her. The last thing he is is innocent."

"Here's here because of _you,_ " she reminded him, seeing his immediate disdain. "Focus on her. Not him."

Wordlessly, Sam removed himself from his mother's grip, being careful not to hurt her. He knew she was right, and he'd take her advice for as long as he could. But he had to get to her. He couldn't waste any more time.

* * *

Sam skidded to a halt in front of his bedroom door, seeing it cracked. He wet his lips and opened it gently, stepping inside. Dean glanced up from his spot in the armchair that he moved next to the bed, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sam watched as Robbie sat criss cross next to Rachel on the mattress, fussing with her blankets. "Robbie got her pulse up," Dean said. "But he can't break her out of the coma. Cas said it's deep."

Sam nodded, passing Dean as he sat on the edge of the mattress next to Rachel, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Anyone know why she blew a hole in the wall?"

Dean shook his head. "Didn't even know she was back until it exploded."

Forcing himself to focus on Rachel, Sam hesitated, gathering his words. "No one was with her?"

"Nope."

Sam swallowed hard. He knew better. Rachel was provoked. And he could only think of one thing that would have sent her over the edge. He remained silent, coaching himself to stay calm. "Robbie," he said softly, "did you see anything in her when you healed her pulse?" Robbie shook his head. "Okay." The lack of definitive answers was driving him insane.

"Sam, we should get her to a hospital," Dean said, seeing his brother's stiff reaction. "Look, Robbie can't break her out. She should be monitored."

"Robbie's the most powerful being there is," Sam scoffed. "What's a hospital going to do?"

"Monitor her," Dean replied coolly.

Sam eyed him. "She's _not_ leaving the bunker. Who the hell knows what we'd send her into in there! She's safe here."

"Look," Dean said, standing. "I'm not trying to see my little sister die because you're too stubborn to get her help."

"She's likely resonating off the charts," Sam argued, bridging the gap and standing in front of Dean at the foot of the bed. "So, you just want me to bring her to a place jam-packed with strangers and hope for the best? And how do you suppose we explain _why_ she's like this?"

"She collapsed. Exhaustion. I don't give a shit. I just want her safe!"

"So do I," Sam snarled. "But her being out there is the furthest thing from safe. We can monitor her here. And we can kick the angel out with routine incremented grace extraction at the same time."

"No," Castiel argued, gaining both Sam's and Dean's attention as he stood in the doorway. "To do that now would be sure death for Rachel as a vessel."

"Why?" Sam challenged as Castiel approached.

"When we initially tried it, it was excruciating for her."

"I know, but we've _got_ to bleed it out!"

"Sam—"

"We've got to! Otherwise—"

Frustrated, Castiel's voice rose. "It's too late, Sam."

The room fell silent, Castiel quickly realizing his mistake as Sam glared down at him. "What do you mean?" Sam asked, his tone blackened.

Castiel hesitated. "Sam—"

" _What_ do you mean?!" Sam took a step closer to Castiel. The angel remained silent. "Cas?!"

"Cas," Dean said, standing, concern etched on his face. "Now."

Castiel drew in an uneasy breath. "This coma … She … When I tried to wake her, it …"

"It what?" Sam snapped.

"I could feel the hold the angel has on her in this coma. It … it could be far longer than you think."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked gruffly.

"It means …" Castiel shut his eyes, pained. "It means I felt Rachel's vessel merging with the angel." He looked up at Sam, who was paled. "A simple grace extraction won't likely be enough. The angel is growing more powerful, likely feeding off of her natural grace as well as its own. It likely has her tucked away inside her mind somewhere. She might not even be aware she's trapped. But regardless, she is likely going to have to expel it herself … before it fully converts her physiology."

"If she's not fully in control, then how can she do that?!"

"Through a challenge of wills. She will need to have whatever strength of mind she can muster to force the angel out."

"Okay," Dean began slowly, "so then … when she wakes up, she just tells him to leave?"

"It's not that simple," Castiel replied. "This angel is not only feeding off of its own grace, but hers. It's supercharging itself, and it needs her will to remain dormant to do so. On top of this, Rachel's grace is of archangel lineage. So, the power it's consuming ..." He paused, seeing Sam's shock and devastation. "Sam, Rachel may not _be Rachel_ when she wakes. But there's no way to know until then. If we can somehow communicate with her the severity of the situation, we could possibly, essentially, 'wake her up.'"

"Like what was done when Gadreel was in my head," Sam finished quietly, looking down at Rachel's sleeping form. His eyes flicked to Castiel. "So you need to get in her head right now," he concluded, his voice wavering as he saw Castiel's resistance.

"Sam," Castiel said, "it's a very delicate thing. We might not be able to, depending on how strong the angel is."

"You need to get in there _now_!" Sam grabbed Castiel's arm and shook it. " _Now,_ Cas!"

"Sammy," Dean said softly, stilling his brother's hand as he laid his own over it. He swallowed hard. "The angel might reject him. She might have to do this on her own."

Covering his mouth, Sam pushed away from the others, pacing slowly. His heart was obliterated at the idea of never actually speaking to Rachel as herself again. Was this it? Would she just cease to exist?

"Dad?" Robbie asked softly, halting Sam. "I … I can grow," the boy said, pushing to his knees on the mattress. "If I grow, then I'll be stronger. And I can wake Mom up." Sam shook his head in silent protest. "But Dad, I can help!"

"No," Sam snapped, silencing the boy. "You … You can't … No. No growing."

"But—"

"No!"

"Sammy," Dean said gently, "it might be the only way."

" _No!_ " Sam snarled, looking at his brother. He softened a bit, tears welling in his eyes. "Rachel would never … She'd never forgive me. Or herself." He looked to Robbie. "No," he repeated gently, a tear escaping his cheek. "We will find another way, alright?"

Robbie nodded reluctantly. "Alright."

"Atta boy." Sam swiped his tears away, tensing as he braced himself. "Come with me. We're going to get Mom set up in the infirmary."

"Sam," Dean said softly, clearly hesitating as his brother gave him a cool look. "Can you at least consider the hospital?"

"No," Sam snapped, leaving his brother and Castiel with Rachel as he stalked down the hall. Robbie reluctantly followed, glancing back at his mother before disappearing.

Dean shut his eyes. "Tell me the truth, Cas," he said quietly. "What're her odds?"

Castiel drew in a deep breath. "We need to hope for the best, Dean."

"But 'the best' is unlikely."

"She's a fighter."

Dean scoffed, looking down at the floor. "Just say it, Cas."

Castiel looked over at Rachel, then to Dean. "It doesn't look good," he admitted quietly.


	96. Chapter 95

Sam tugged down on the flat sheet he had expertly spread over the infirmary bed, staring blankly down at the off white fabric weave. He drew in a shaky breath, trying to force back his fears. He knew the spot Rachel was in, if only through what Dean relayed after the fact. He remembered only the battle he fought in his mind, when Gadreel had him tucked away in a fantasy, and brief moments of time seen through Gadreel's eyes. He tried to ignore the sickness he felt as he imagined Rachel in the same condition, unaware of her imprisonment. What was happening in her world? Was he there? Were they still fighting?

Barely noticing the door open to his left, Sam traced over the sheets, lost in thought. "Sammy?" Dean asked gently, seeing his brother's clear absence. Dean sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know … I know you're going to fight me on this. But you have to know that keeping her here is dangerous. For her."

Sam didn't reply. He knew Dean's concerns were more than valid. He couldn't get past his fear of letting her out of his sight. "She could …" Sam swallowed hard, still focusing on the sheets. "Dean," he whispered, eyes filling with tears, "I … I don't want to lose her."

Dean's brow creased in empathy. "You won't," he assured, taking hold of his brother's shoulder. "You won't. But we need to give her the best chance to fight. We need her to keep her body strong. We can't do that here."

Sam lowered his head, his hand falling to his side. "She's …"

"Listen," Dean said gently, turning his brother to face him. "We are gonna take her to the hospital. You can set up camp there. I've got Robbie."

For a long moment, Sam was quiet. Though he wanted to keep Rachel close, he knew Dean was right. "Alright," he said softly, a couple tears slipping down his cheeks.

Patting his brother's back, Dean exhaled a small breath of relief. "Alright, Sammy."

* * *

Rachel tore out of the kitchen, trying to remove Ketch's words from her head but failing. She sighed as she paused in the hall, trying to clear her mind. The air around her felt thicker, but she chalked it up to her elevated blood pressure and the tears clouding her eyes.

As she looked down, she paused, seeing her feet were bare, and a robe hung off her shoulders over a set of lounge clothes. Wasn't she just dressed in boots and a jacket? Why was she even mad to begin with? The fogginess of the room seemed to mirror her own confusion inside.

"Baby girl?"

Rachel turned, seeing Sam approaching with clear hesitation. "You okay?" he asked, brow furrowed.

She looked him over, noticing the baseball mitt in his hand and how his hair had been ruffled by the outside air. "Yeah," she replied, her eyes shutting as Sam's hand found her cheek.

"You sure?" Rachel shrugged one shoulder; Sam let go of the mitt, tossing it to the floor as he cupped the other side of her face. "Talk to me," he whispered.

Blinking rapidly, Rachel refocused on his face. It was as if she had just come out of a haze, unsure what even brought her into the hall to begin with. "I just … Something happened, and I came in here … to …" She paused, the briefest of memories flitting through. "Sam, where's Ketch?"

Sam was clearly confused as well. "Ketch?" Rachel nodded. "He's in England," he replied softly. "Why?"

"I could swear he was just here."

"Hasn't been here since Robbie was a newborn." His brow wrinkled "As in, nearly two years ago." He threaded his fingertips into her hair. "You're scaring me. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm …" Rachel swallowed hard. Her apprehension seemed to be melting away just as quickly as it had come. The fog seemed to lift, a peace filling her mind. She had laid down to nap while Sam and Robbie were playing catch. Everything else must have been a weird, hormonally-driven dream. "Sorry," she laughed softly, shaking her head, "I think I had a … a dream."

Sam kissed her forehead, his right hand lowering to take her left. He lifted it to his lips, smiling as he kissed her knuckles. Rachel saw how the diamond of her engagement ring sitting overtop a simple wedding band caught the light, glittering as he moved her. "Come on," he said gently, "Mom made some dinner. Let's go eat. I bet you're hungry."

"Starved, actually," she admitted with a laugh. She felt unusually ravenous. "So how was catch?"

"Robbie's got an arm. I think I have a decent bruise from missing one of his pitches."

Rachel smirked. "Kinda wish I had his powers sometimes. Or any powers, really. Being a plain old human is kinda boring."

"You do have powers," Sam grinned. "You have power over me." He kissed her forehead as she chuckled. "Powers are overrated anyway."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Is it working?" Sam asked, laughing as she gave him a teasing look.

"Hey you two," Mary said with a smile as they entered the kitchen. She held a spoon up, an apron tucked around her neatly. "Rachel, how are you feeling?"

"Better," Rachel admitted. "I had a huge headache. But it seems to be gone."

"Well, good. Go on. In the library. Sit sit," Mary urged, returning her focus to the stove.

"Something smells good," Bobby noted with an appreciative smile as he entered, his grin widening as he took in Mary.

"You're just in time," Mary noted.

"I'd hate to miss stew," Bobby replied, taking up a stack of dishes and leaving.

"Can I help?" Rachel asked.

"Absolutely not," Mary replied, giving her a teasingly stern look over her shoulder. "Sam, will you tell your wife to rest, please?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said, tightening his grip around Rachel. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you settled."

Rachel sighed. "You know, I'm not a china doll," she said with an arched brow as Sam guided her to the library, helping her sit.

"You're not. But you certainly didn't learn from the last time," Sam chided.

"I'm _fine,_ " she insisted.

"I can't risk it," Sam replied softly, squatting to her level. "I'd never risk my two best girls." He leaned in and kissed her forehead, his hand finding Rachel's stomach, which was gently curved outward, straining against her shirt. "My beautiful girls," Sam murmured against her skin, tracing over Rachel's womb.

"Don't you worry, Sammy," Dean said with a grin as he entered. "Nobody's gonna even get close to MJ."

Rachel laughed, shaking her head as Sam straightened. "You're impossible," she sighed.

"We're working on a bubble to keep her in, right Sammy?" Dean continued.

Sam nodded. "For until she's at least thirty."

"Thirty?" Rachel scoffed. "You had me knocked up with Robbie before I was thirty."

"Precisely my point," Sam smirked.

Rachel feigned shock. "How dare you, sir!"

"Listen," Dean said, gnawing on a hunk of bread, "we can make the bubble big enough for both of you."

Rachel stuck her tongue out at Dean, who chuckled.

"He's got a point. I've got two beautiful Winchester women to worry about now," Sam added.

"Mom!" Rachel called our in annoyance. "Your son and his brother are driving me insane!"

Mary sighed as Bobby took the enormous pot from her, setting it down on the tabletop. "She can handle herself," she warned the two, a smile playing at her lips. "Now, where's—"

Robbie, Jack, and Castiel appeared in the library with suddenness. "Awesome!" Robbie squealed. "I wish I could teleport."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be sometimes," Castiel noted as the boy sat next to Sam.

"It's still so cool," Robbie insisted.

"This smells delicious," Jack noted to Mary, who was scooping out bowls for everyone.

"Well, I hope you enjoy!" Mary replied with a proud look. "I've really been trying to work on my cooking skills."

"I've got the takeout menu handy just in case," Dean grinned, receiving a glare from his mother.

The conversation flowed easily, the group chatting and laughing carelessly as they ate. It was nearly pristine, or maybe even perfect. Worries seemed to be absent, no impending doom lingering around, waiting to destroy them. It was just them, as a family, happy, together. At peace. Just how Rachel always imagined her life would be.

* * *

"Is it like … like what Lucifer did to her?" Sam asked as he looked down at Rachel's peaceful, sleeping form. His jacket might as well have been a strait jacket, the collar of his shirt brushing his neck a noose. Everything inside of him felt off kilter at just the thought of bringing her somewhere outside of the bunker.

Castiel sighed. "There are many gaps. More than likely to keep her from questioning the angel's control. He probably filled them in with the most ideal scenarios."

"Will she get it back?" Dean asked, pained as he watched Rachel breathe.

"Yes," Castiel said, quickly clarifying, "if she is able to take back control and expel it."

Nodding softly, Sam bent down and lifted Rachel up, letting her head nestle into the crook of his arm. "Let's go."


	97. Chapter 96

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* * *

"Mister Winchester," the middle-aged nurse with curly brown hair sighed, dreading having to explain it again, "I understand she's important to you. There is no way to tell the full extent of her condition just yet. Our doctors will update her chart after they make their rounds—"

Sam shook his head, his grip tightening on the counter as he faced off with the front desk nurse. "I want her examined _now_ ," he repeated.

"She's stable, Mister Winchester," the nurse repeated. "She's been treated under preliminary examination. She's attached to monitors and responding well. We are tracking everything."

Pushing away from the counter, Sam shook his head. "And she's supposed to be safer here," he muttered under his breath, pacing down the hall a bit.

"She will be," Dean assured. "Breathe, Sammy. She's got the tools she needs. She's safe. There's nothing more they can do until they get the MRI and EEG results back."

Sam drew in a deep breath through his nose, shutting his eyes. The entire situation was more than he could handle. It was his own stubbornness that created the mess he was now in. Had he just listened … Had he gone with her … The endless string of what-ifs reeled through his head like a spinning top. He couldn't silence the voice of guilt, desperate for a distraction. At the bunker, he was able to throw himself into his work. Here, all he could focus on was how he royally fucked up Rachel's life from the moment he met her.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam tried to force a lightness to his voice. "I'm, uh, gonna get coffee. Want some?"

Dean was surprised that Sam was willing to leave Rachel's side for even a nanosecond. "Uh, sure. Thanks." He watched his brother move quickly toward the direction of the cafeteria, the hall outside of the ICU feeling far more crowded than it was. Hesitantly, Dean ducked into Rachel's room for the first time, not fully prepared for what he saw.

She was small — smaller than usual. It was as if the equipment surrounding her dwarfed her somehow. The bed and blankets seemed to swallow her as well. Several tubes ran out from her body to the waiting machines, each one blinking and beeping with its own purpose. He sighed, rubbing his temples. No wonder Sam was eager to leave. The sight made his stomach turn, utter helplessness drowning him.

Dean turned away from her, getting lost in watching the hypnotic beat of her digitized pulse. The gentle spikes rose and fell with her breath, each one reminding him of just how little they could do. If they tried to force themselves into her mind somehow, the angel could destroy her. The only option they had outside of letting her fight alone was using Robbie's matured powers. But that meant him growing, which Sam would never allow. Was it dumb of Sam to refuse? Maybe. But he understood his brother's refusal. Robbie was the only slice of somewhat normal he had, so long as he was a boy. Sam was so desperate to give him a life he never had, knowing it was even more impossible than when he himself was young.

Dean moved room Rachel's side, brushing a piece of hair from her brow. "Come on, kiddo," he whispered, shuddering as he held back his tears. "Kick this dick's ass. You've gotta. You gotta get him out. Whatever … Whatever life you're living isn't real." He traced across her cheek, barely noticing his tears breaking free. "You've gotta come back to us, alright? We need you." He sniffled, shutting his eyes for a moment, his tears falling freely. "I can't lose you. You're the pain in the ass little sister I never wanted but now I can't live without. You're not allowed to leave, you hear? As your older brother, you have to listen to me." He took Rachel's hand, sickened by the cold lifelessness to it. "Robbie needs his mother. And Sam … God, Sammy … You're his oxygen, Rach. When he lost you twice before, he died there with you each time. I don't know what he'd do if …" Bile rushed up his throat. "He can't lose you. Not again. Not like this. Please, kiddo. Please. Come back to him. Come back to all of us."

* * *

Rachel's eyes fluttered open, blinking as she adjusted to the darkness around her. She heard Sam murmur under his breath, tightening his arms around her as he slept beside her. His bare chest was warm, a familiar blanket of security. One of his hands traced lazily over her womb, he still fast asleep.

She could've sworn on their unborn daughter Mary Jolene's life that she heard Dean crying right next to her, his tears interspersed with heartbreaking pleas for her not to die, to "come back." Why would she have dreamt that? It didn't sound anything like a dream, just as her conversation with Ketch didn't. It felt real. _Very_ real. She could've sworn it was. She had shoved it aside earlier for Sam's sake, but the odd feeling lingered. It was nearly as if she was living in two parallel timelines with how real it felt. The idea left her nauseous, unsettled. And with a horrible headache.

Even her slightest attempt at breaking free of Sam's embrace woke him. He immediately tensed, focusing on Rachel. "What's wrong?" he asked, panic in his voice.

Rachel swallowed, wrestling with telling Sam about her "dream." When she had told him about talking with Ketch earlier, he was clearly concerned. The last thing she needed was a shorter leash because he was scared. "Bathroom," she said softly with a small smile. "Girlfriend's pressing on my bladder." Sam released a breath, relaxing immediately. He let her go, smiling back at her as he watched her stand up. "Go back to sleep. You need rest, Sammy," Rachel urged.

"You okay?" Sam asked, not entirely convinced.

"Fine," she laughed. "Just need to walk around a bit to stretch out."

"Back's hurting again?"

"A little."

"Let me give you a massage," he offered, sitting up.

"It's okay," Rachel insisted, trying to put him at ease. "Really. A walk around the bunker will help."

"Want me to join you?"

"No, babe. It's alright. Just rest, please? I don't even remember the last time you slept well."

Sam gave her a lopsided grin after stifling a yawn. "I do. It was six months ago, when I gave you that last massage."

Rachel laughed. "And you also got me pregnant."

Sam's grin widened. "Can't do that again at the moment. So how about a massage?"

Shaking her head, Rachel sighed, tugging on her long cardigan. "Sleep, Casanova. Tomorrow morning you can give me a massage while Mom is out with Robbie."

Seemingly satisfied, Sam settled back down into bed, still watching her. "Promise me you'll ask for help if you need it?"

"Promise." Rachel leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, smiling at him before leaving the room.

The hall was colder than it had been earlier, and eerily silent. There were so many more people living in the bunker, yet the atmosphere was nearly sterile in its silence. She paused for a moment, glancing at the direction toward the kitchen where she originally intended to go. Still, her gut was drawn to the idea of talking to Dean. Was he crying? Was he afraid of something?

Maybe it was a sign from MJ. Was it a vision? She hadn't had any with MJ before. But Robbie had given her them while in the womb because of Sam's demon blood genetics, almost immediately after she knew she was pregnant. Regardless of the late arrival, it didn't make sense to be anything else. With a deep breath, she tightened her sweater around herself and abandoned her original plan, heading for Dean's room.

Dean never slept well, so usually his TV was on at all times of the night. Yet, it was quiet as she rounded the corner toward his room. A light glow emanated from under his door, his lights clearly on. Rachel approached the shut door, hesitant as she remembered his shuddered words, begging her to come back. What did that mean? Why did he think she was gone?

Gently, Rachel rapped on his door, holding her breath as she waited. A moment later, Dean opened the door, his hair rumpled and his expression confused. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, glancing down at her stomach before meeting her eyes.

Rachel scanned Dean's face. He didn't look like he had been crying. "I … I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

Dean shook his head. "Just playing poker on my phone. You okay?"

She wet her lips. "I, uh … I thought I heard …"

"Heard what?" Dean asked, glancing at his gun on the desk behind him. "Where?"

"No, I mean, I … I had a dream."

"About what?"

"...You."

Dean's lips parted. "Come again?"

"Not … like that." Rachel exhaled, flustered. "I think MJ gave me a vision."

Dean ushered her in, shutting the door behind her. "What kind of vision?" he asked as he guided her to sit on the end of the bed, he remaining standing.

"You … you were crying. And … and you were asking me to 'come back.' To everyone. To you. To Sam and Robbie."

Dean took a step closer. "'Come back?' From where?"

"I don't know. But you were … you were broken. Like I was dying. You sounded desperate. It gave me chills."

Pursing his lips, he examined her. "What else was in the vision?"

"Uh … I didn't really see … anything. I just heard you."

Dean nodded, eerily calm. Rachel had imagined he would be more panicked, not so rigid. Yet, he seemed nearly stoic, and looked like he was deep in thought. "Sounds like we've got a problem," he concluded a few beats later, folding his arms over his chest.

His word choice seemed very odd. Rachel's brows furrowed, nerves catching at her throat. She shook her head violently with a forced laugh, her stomach doing flips all of a sudden. "You know what? It's probably just hormones. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ... I … I'll go."

Rachel stood, but Dean took hold of her wrist before she could leave. "No. Stay," he urged, his lips curling up a bit at the sides.

Rachel's mouth opened in a bit of shock. Dean wasn't being Dean. Every internal red flag she had waved in a fury of warning. "I'm … kinda tired, and Sam—"

"Sam," Dean muttered, clearly annoyed. Through her hesitation, he guided her deeper into the room away from the door with a small chuckle. "Ah, Sam. Listen, he'll be fine. He'll get over it eventually. He did with the others, after all."

Her nausea exploded within. Something was horribly wrong. Ice flooded her veins, her head feeling woozy with dread. "I'm really tired. I'll just go back—"

"Oh you're not going anywhere," Dean replied, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward himself. Rachel's heart raced as she felt an unusual strength in his grip, his hand clamped down on her.

"Dean?" she panicked, wanting to vomit.

"Shhh," he urged, laying a finger over her lips. He grinned. "Thank you for letting me know about what you saw," he murmured, cupping the side of her face. It sent gooseflesh over her arms. "I knew I had to make a move soon, given who you are. Just didn't figure it'd be so soon. You're pretty strong." Rachel tried to squirm out of his grip, but failed miserably. "Shhh. Shhh. Don't struggle. It's alright." He intimately combed his fingers through his hair, his smile broadening. "You'll learn how to be one with me. That's what you said you wanted, isn't it?"

Again, Rachel tried to force herself away from Dean, unable to break free. Tears filled her eyes, confusion and sickness nearly drowning her. "Ra-chel," Dean whispered in a sing-song way in her ear, keeping her close, "just relax. It's the only way this works." She shuddered, her lip quivering. "If not …" Dean pressed a kiss on her cheek, lingering against her skin. "If not, well then you get hurt."

"Dean," Rachel begged, his stubble scraping against her skin. "I don't want to be with you. I'm sorry. I … I love Sam."

"Oh, I know," Dean replied, his breath hot in her ear. "I don't need your love. I just need your cooperation."

"Please, Dean," Rachel whimpered as she tried to free herself. If Sam knew what was happening, he'd likely kill his brother on the spot. She considered screaming, drawing in a deep breath to prepare. She let it go, screaming out. Only, no sound came.

"Shhh," Dean urged as she tried, and failed, to scream again. He pet her, holding her nearly perfectly still. "It won't work, Rachel. This is my world. I make the rules. So relax. Let this be. Don't fight this. It's so much easier that way."

Despite her lack of power, Rachel fought as hard as she could, seeing a flare of unnatural blue in Dean's eyes. Her stomach bottomed out. "You … You're not …"

"Of course not," Dean laughed, still stroking her. "You know, one minute I'm commanding Michael's legions, then the next, my essence is stolen by those disgusting Men Of Letters. So imagine my surprise when you—the filthy daughter of an archangel—stumble upon my essence that had been locked away for nearly 100 of your human years." With a smile, Dean twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. "I was a bit weak at first, but all that archangel lineage grace of yours has definitely helped. Mmm. So, so good. Even if it was Barachiel's, the little whore."

Rachel's throat dried out. "Who are you?"

Dean shrugged. "Suppose there's no harm in it. Eligos, Grand Duke to Michael. Nice to finally meet you." He smirked, sniffing her hair as he dragged it under his nose. "Not like you'll remember anyway. That's what makes this so fun."

Eligos in Dean's image snapped his fingers in front of her face. Hesitantly, Rachel looked at her stomach, shocked when she saw it was completely flat. She was wearing a red strapless dress that billowed around her, draping over the floor and resembling a pool of blood. As she looked back up to Eligos, the room transformed around them into a stark white space with nothing inside of it. His own clothing changed into a completely black suit ensemble, his face shifting from Dean's to that of another man's, one with pale skin, a thick mane of red hair, and piercing blue eyes. He clucked his tongue at her with a grin. "You should've just went to the kitchen, Rachel."

Before Rachel could process what was happening, Eligos pressed two fingers to her forehead. The world went black around her. She felt herself dipping backward, as if she was falling into a vortex of nothingness. She flailed, her heart stopping as she felt the air whoosh around herself, helpless to her evident death. Even then, her scream wouldn't come.


	98. Chapter 97

Sam swallowed hard as he entered Rachel's hospital room. He didn't mean to catch Dean wiping his tears, but he wasn't even sure if Dean cared that he did. He set down the coffee he bought for Dean on the small table at Rachel's bedside. "Anything?" he asked quietly.

Dean took up the cup with a sniff. "Uh, no." He took a long sip, shutting his eyes. The caffeine wouldn't solve any of the real problems at hand, but it was a good distraction.

Sam sat down in the chair next to the bed, nipping at his bottom lip as he ran his knuckles gently over Rachel's cheek. "Hey, baby girl," he whispered. He waited, as if to expect an immediate response, and was instead surrounded by silence. Running his hand over his face, he drew in a deep breath and drank from his coffee while fighting exhaustion. Sleep wasn't an option at the moment, even though his body and mind were begging for rest.

"I, uh, can stay for a bit," Dean offered, looking down at his brother.

Sam shook his head. "Robbie needs you," he replied softly. He looked up at his brother. "Dean, I appreciate you … you taking care of him."

Dean scoffed. "Pfft. He's my nephew. I'd die for that kid." He rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

Nodding, Sam forced a small smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Well, that's a crock of shit." Dean moved his hand to his side.

"I will be," Sam assured. "I just … I need the test results back."

Dean nodded. "Call me when you get them?"

Sam nodded back, not failing to miss the utter awkwardness they each felt. "Sure. Yeah. Will do." Sam cleared his throat. "Tell Robbie I love him very much."

"Of course."

Dean watched as Sam turned his focus back to Rachel, seeing how his knee restlessly bounced and how his eyes bore into her. It was like when she was in the hospital after the farmhouse with Arioch. How many times had Rachel been in the hospital or near death since they met her? _Too many times._ It was likely what made Sam look the particular shade of pale green he did.

The room felt suffocating; Dean had to leave, though he didn't know if he really wanted to. Finally, he pulled himself away from the scene, ducking out into the ICU hall, plowing quickly down it to get home. He tried to convince himself that his urgency wasn't him running from the horrid possibility of Rachel's death, but he failed miserably.

Sam sat his coffee down, resting his forehead in his palms as he propped his elbows on the rails for Rachel's bed. His eyes were heavy with tears and exhaustion, causing him to stare blankly down at his jean clad thighs. He lost himself for a while in the beeps of the machines around him, letting his mind go blank. The nothingness was all he could imagine. He had mentally exhausted every other possibility. All that was left was waiting. And begging.

"You're mine," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "You're mine, baby girl. Please. Come back to me. He's lying to you. Whatever you see isn't real. He's not real. _I_ am. You need to tell him to leave. Tell him to leave. Please."

"Mister Winchester?"

Sam quickly lifted his head, seeing a shorter man with close cropped hair in a lab coat, a stethoscope draped around his neck. His smile was kind, matching his sincere dark brown eyes. "I'm Doctor Chau, the resident Neurologist."

"Do you have her results?" Sam asked in a desperate, hushed tone, trying to discreetly wipe his tears.

Doctor Chau nodded slowly, his apprehension making Sam's heart stop. "I do. Mister Winchester … Can we talk in private?"

Sam's nostrils flared as his mind raced, his stomach twisted. "What is it?" he asked as he stood, this time more demanding.

"I … I need you to come with me." Doctor Chau gestured to the doorway that was still cracked open. "Please." He sighed deeply. "I think it's something you'll definitely want to see."

* * *

"Happy Birthday, dear Gina! Happy Birthday to you!"

The corner booth erupted into a mass of cheers and wolf whistles, then clanking and laughter to cap off their incredibly out of tune rendition of Happy Birthday. The Freebird Bar's atmosphere was smoky, dank and run down. Old rock and country tunes crooned from the broken corner jukebox, the smack of pool balls smashing together accompanying the cacophony of lively chatter. It was just where they would prefer to be. They weren't posh people with their noses stuck up their asses. Grimey bars and shitty hotels were practically home for hunters.

Vance Matthews knocked back more of his third beer, grinning down at Gina Mendes who he wrapped his arm around. "Birthday girl," he slurred a little. "I'mma give you a nice present later."

Gina rolled her eyes, flipping her dyed red hair over her shoulder. "Yeah, well you better've gotten me that spa gift card. Your dick isn't a present."

Rachel Lentz drew in a deep breath as she remained quiet in the midst of several buzzed conversations around her. Vance was charismatic, and good looking. She couldn't help but notice him, despite his longtime relationship with Gina. Everyone in their hunting team had someone, except for her. Well, the group shoved her toward Chris Douglas, the stocky, obnoxious redneck loudmouth of them. She didn't really have an interest in him. Still, the road was lonely hunting solo. When she was in the Chicago area, somehow she ended up in his bed, never feeling like she had any other real options. She wanted connection, intimacy. She wanted to feel special, like more than a warm hole to sink into. But to say her self esteem was long since obliterated would've been an understatement. From raped at fifteen, forced to losing her virginity to three supposed friends, to a father who abused her, to whatever creeps were the least creepy when her urges hit, her experience with men had been less than ideal. Love didn't exist. Not for her. And nothing would change her mind.

Taking a swig of her beer, Rachel caught a glimpse of Gina, not failing to miss her sharp judgmental glare. She ducked her eyes down to the condensation on her Heineken, running her finger over it. The longer she sat, the more desperate she was to escape. Gina hated her—it was no secret to Rachel. She overheard the nasty gossip she spread. Yet, here she was, wasting a Friday night celebrating Gina's fifth "twenty-fifth" birthday after spending the last of her darts hustle winnings on a small gift basket of scented lotions.

After nearly a half hour, Rachel needed to escape. She stood, smiling with just enough saccharine to be passable. "I'm going to use the ladies' room," she said, catching Chris' attention.

"Want company?" he smirked.

Rachel felt like barfing. "I can handle it on my own, thanks."

Vance laughed. "Man, she'd rather get herself off than have you there," he snickered, agitating Chris. "A new low, bro."

Chris narrowed his focus at Vance, then glared at Rachel for a brief moment before finishing his beer. "Little bitch," he muttered as Rachel left.

The exit seemed like it was miles away, she having to squeeze through beer-gut middle aged bikers and women with far too much eyeshadow and pleather miniskirts on until she reached it. Finally, she pressed through the door, not stopping until she was on the gravel parking lot toward the darkened side of the bar. She drew in a deep breath of cool fall night air, shutting her eyes with relief. _Freedom._ Moonlight bathed the stones underfoot as she crunched away from the incessant noise of the bar. The air was just what she needed to cleanse herself of the weirdness she left behind.

When she was mostly toward the back of the bar, she paused, taking in a gorgeous black Impala that was parked in the lot. It was an unbelievable car, and it looked well taken care of. She gave a soft whistle. _Damn. That's a good-looking car._ She smirked _. Bet there's been a lot of sex in there._

In her haste to leave the group, she forgot her utility jacket at the booth, now regretting it as the late October breeze seeped through the weave of her baby blue thermal shirt. Rachel gave herself a hug, trying to warm her upper arms with her hands. The chilled air seemed to only get cooler with each passing second, and for a moment, she considered retreating back to the torture chamber known as the corner booth. She nipped on her bottom lip as she weighed her options, glancing back to the entrance in the distance. _Crap. Either I freeze or I vomit. Hmm. Freeze or vomit?_

"You cold?"

Rachel turned toward the husky voice, feeling her stomach sink as a large figure shut the passenger side door to the sleek Impala. The man loomed toward her, broad, clearly fit, and taller than any man she had ever encountered. _Great. This is how women die at crappy bars._ "I'm good," she said quickly, backing up toward the front of the bar, her heart stopping when she bumped her backside into a pole behind her.

The man held up a hand, pausing. He was still mostly shadowed. "I'm … I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Uh huh. I'm good."

As she went to bolt back toward the entrance, the man dared to come closer. She continued to back up, only to trip over a large rock near the step up to the wrap around porch of the bar. The man rushed to her, taking her hands before she could fall. His strong grip lifted her back to her feet, his hands warm and secure. "You alright?" he asked softly, immediately letting go as soon as Rachel was steady.

Rachel swallowed hard, her pulse speeding up from his electric touch. The energy between them from even their brief contact was unreal, breathtaking. "Yeah," she murmured, trying to will her heart to slow down as she carefully moved behind a rail to put distance between them. "Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me," he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Rachel paused, blinking heavily for a moment. Why could she have sworn she heard those words in his voice before? It was so familiar that it nearly made her ache. _What is wrong with me?_

* * *

Sam sat down in the chair across from Doctor Chau, who opened up a file. "This," Doctor Chau began, pulling out a scan of a brain, "is a scan of a normal, healthy brain." The doctor gestured to the surrounding red that wrapped into a circle. "See these colorful portions? That's a reflection of consistent healthy metabolic activity. The colors vary in intensity on a sort of thermal scale. As you can see, the intensity markers vary between subjective stimuli, but this patient's scan shows a bright, healthy, active brain that is conscious and responsive." He gestured to the far less colorful scan next to it. "Consequently, the less consciousness, the less color, as you can see in this scan of a patient with minimal output during a prolonged coma. This is a standard view of the brain during a state of prolonged unconsciousness. Usually once consciousness is regained, it will regain typical visible activity."

Doctor Chau then pulled out a sheet with lined marks across it. "This is the conscious patient's EEG results, markers of signals sent by the brain. As you can see, the peaks are quite normal and consistent, reflecting the same activity as in the scan." He gestured to the opposite side of the EEG reading. "The more linear pattern here on our unconscious subject's results reflects the decrease in neuron activity, which is again standard for the patient's condition."

The doctor paused, clearly hesitant. Maybe even unsure. Sam's knee began to bounce, his pulse racing with every second of silence that passed. His brows tightened together, pain creasing his face as he waited while Doctor Chau moved the other files and presented a new folder. "This," Doctor Chau finally said, pulling out two more images, "is … Rachel's scan."

Sam's eyes widened, lips parting. The image was unlike anything he was expecting. The picture of Rachel's brain was lit like a Christmas tree, the colors even more vibrant than the healthy, conscious brain's were, more dense and varied. "Mister Winchester," Doctor Chau said softly, "... Rachel is, for all intents and purposes, in a coma with loss of consciousness. Yet, her neurons are firing maybe even more efficiently than the healthy subject's. This variety of activity is nothing short of baffling." He slid Rachel's EEG results to Sam; Sam's worries only grew. "These peaks … They're incredible. Her brain is making rapid fire connections that are rarely made even in the best of circumstances. All in a state of unconsciousness. This … This is something that just frankly does not exist in science that we know of."

Sam's stomach dropped. He knew it wasn't normal for the doctor, but he knew exactly why Rachel's scan was abnormal. It was her wrestling with the angel.

"Rachel is a magnificent anomaly," Doctor Chau continued. "One I will undoubtedly need consultation for." Sam's eyes darted back up to the doctor. "I've contacted leading neurologists from around the world, and given the circumstances, they were more than happy to assemble a voluntary team for her observation and treatment. They should be arriving in forty-eight hours. From there, we'll assess Rachel's condition and set up testing."

Sam felt like he was going to hurl. They would never in a million years be able to science what was happening to Rachel. The longer she was exposed for doctors to poke and prod at, the more at risk she was on angel radio and radar.

"I know this is a lot," the doctor said with an empathetic look. "But I can assure you, she will be in the best care possible."

"... Thanks," Sam managed, reluctantly standing as Doctor Chau did. He left the office as fast as he could, slowing as he passed Rachel's room. He had to get her out of the hospital somehow. There would be no way they'd voluntarily discharge her. He would have to somehow break her out.

Whipping out his cell phone, he quickly dialed Dean's number as he left the ICU to find a discreet location. "Dean," Sam said in a hushed whisper, frantic and anxious, "we've got a big problem here."


	99. Chapter 98

At the bar, Rachel shivered again; the man unzipped his thick brown jacket, sliding it off his broad frame to reveal a red plaid shirt covering what looked to be an incredible body. His jeans didn't do much to hide his muscular thighs, long legs ending in plain brown boots. Rachel's eyes skimmed up to the man's face, feeling her pulse flutter. As he stepped closer, the glow from the bar was able to reveal an incredibly handsome man with a jawline that could cut rock. His chiseled face was dusted with stubble, his sincere hazel eyes framed by gorgeous locks of long chestnut brown hair. He had to be at least six foot. No, more. He was way more. Way over a foot taller than her. _Holy crap. He can't be real._

Rachel swallowed as the man stepped closer to offer his jacket, trying to process everything. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him. Why did this stranger hold so much power over her? _Manson was also a nice, good looking, convincing dude_ , she reminded herself. "Stay … Stay there," she snapped, lowering her hands to her sides. She whipped out her imposing knife from her back jean pocket, the blade glinting in the moonlight.

"Easy," the man urged softly, immediately stopping and surrendering with his hands up, still holding his jacket. "I don't mean you any harm."

"Sure. Then stay there." Rachel hated herself for showing weakness as a shiver ran up her spine, causing her to visibly react.

The man cleared his throat. "You're a hunter, right?" he asked softly. Rachel resisted showing her surprise as much as she could. "I, uh, recognized a couple of the guys you're with."

Rachel's brow shot up, raising the knife. "You've been watching me?" she asked incredulously.

He lifted his hands a bit more. "No, I …" The man sighed, as if he was trying to explain himself in the best way possible, carefully selecting his words. "I mean, I was in there with my brother … we just got done a couple hunts, and he wanted to stop here … and … when we sat down I, uh, saw … you." He paused; she watched his Adam's Apple bob as he gulped. He seemed nervous. "And, uh, I … I recognized Pete Kentwood and his partner James Wheaton with you. They helped us with a hunt once in Ohio. Plus, I guessed hunter from your knife."

Pete and James were adorable together. And they both were keen hunters, Pete being more of a bookworm than James, the muscle. They balanced each other out so well and clearly loved each other so much that it made Rachel ache for the same chemistry.

While contemplating his statement, Rachel failed to stifle another shiver. "Please," the man said softly, "just … take the jacket." The man draped it over the railing between them, stepping away from her, hands still in surrender to her.

His kindness surprised her. He seemed genuine. There was a trustworthiness about him, despite her insistence in waving her knife at his face. Rachel slowly lowered her weapon, folding the blade in as she held his gaze. She stuffed it back in her pocket, still hesitant about taking his coat. "You'll be cold," she objected softly.

He shook his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he lowered his hands. "I've got a lot more to keep me warm than you. It's fine." He nodded to the direction of the entry as she carefully took the coat. "I got the feeling you didn't want to go back in for yours. Plus I figured inviting you in the car was a lot more presumptuous."

"So you _were_ watching me," Rachel concluded with a smirk as she felt the washworn cotton under her fingertips.

The man laughed a little through his nose, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "I, uh, might've been." He cleared his throat. "You didn't look like you were really a fan of the Freebird Bar, so I empathized from across the room."

Rachel slipped on the coat. It was far too big. It dwarfed her. But it was still warm from the man's body heat. His cologne smelled crisp with a bit of woodsiness. Rugged and clean. The kind of scent you would want to surround yourself with on a cold night. "Thank you," she said softly, relieved that the air was blocked.

"You're welcome," the man smiled back.

"So …" Rachel kicked a random stone with the toe of her boot, unsure of herself as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Why don't you want to be in there?"

The man sighed. "My brother … He's got a party side. I'm just not in the mood."

"Why not stay home?"

"I'm his DD."

"That's kind of you."

The man shrugged. "It's no biggie." He looked her over. "What about you?"

"Birthday party for a girl that hates me."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"So why go?"

Rachel shrugged, tracing her fingertips over the rough wood railing between them. "They're … I was in town off a hunt, and they're pretty much … it … for people I know."

"You're alone?" the man asked. He held a hand up a moment later. "That, uh, sounded bad. I just mean, you hunt by yourself?" Rachel nodded. "That's risky," he remarked with genuine concern.

"I get by."

"I'm sure. It's still risky not having someone to back you."

Rachel smirked as she baited him. "Know any good hunters who would want to team up?"

Sam grinned back. "I can think of one."

Silence lingered between them for a few beats; Rachel noticed the man hadn't come any closer. She watched him jab his tongue into his cheek, like he was trying to avoid saying something. "I never got your name," she said, meeting his eyes.

"Sam," the man said softly.

"Rachel," she replied.

Sam wet his lips. "Rachel," he murmured. Rachel's stomach knotted instantly from how he said it, as if she had heard it said from his lips before. Butterflies erupted within, heat coursing through her veins. "It's nice to meet you, Rachel."

"Likewise, Sam," she said, trying to quench her dry throat. "So … Do you live around here?"

Sam shook his head. "We live in Kansas."

 _Of course he has someone._ "Oh."

"Yeah. Just me and my brother."

 _He's single?!_ "... Oh."

"It's pretty much just always been Dean and me."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Do you mean the dude with the dirty blonde hair at the pool table who called himself the Lean Mean Dean Machine?"

Sam laughed; Rachel couldn't get over how sexy his dimples were, failing to suppress a shiver they caused. "Yep. That's him."

"Wow. You've got your work cut out for you tonight."

"Sure do." Sam paused. "Where's home for you?" Rachel's smile faded. Sam didn't fail to notice. "Sorry, you don't have to answer."

"It's okay," Rachel insisted gently. "New York. But it hasn't been home for ten years. Or … ever, really."

Sam nodded, digesting the weight of her words. "I'm sorry. I … I can't imagine life on the road anymore. Not since we got a place. I hated it."

"It sucks at times. But better than the alternative, I guess." Rachel stepped to the railing, closing the gap between them. Heat radiated off of him. "What were you hunting?"

"A poltergeist in Indianapolis, then we heard about a vamp nest, so we came a little further north. Heading home in the morning."

"You took care of the whole nest? Just the two of you?" Sam nodded. "Wow. That's impressive."

"We cheat a little." Rachel saw Sam's smirk. "I can show you, if you want." His brow wrinkled and he shook his head. "Sorry. I just meant, if you wanted—"

"Just shut up and show me, dufus," Rachel interrupted, clearly surprising him. Sam didn't move for a minute, his brow still drawn. His lips parted, and Rachel couldn't help but stare at them.

"Alright," he finally said. He tilted his head to the Impala's trunk that faced them. "It's, uh, in the trunk."

"Okay …?"

"I just didn't want you to think … I was …"

Rachel laughed softly. "I can tell you're not a murderer," she assured.

Sam's brows furrowed. "How?"

"You apologize too much."

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I guess you're right. I, uh …" He looked down at her. "I think I'm just a little intimidated," he admitted.

"By me?" Rachel scoffed. "I'm five foot one, and you're like twenty feet tall."

"Six foot four," Sam corrected, his tone shifting. It made Rachel's heart palpitate. She tried to ignore how curious she was about how it felt to be held by him. His arms were thick and muscular, his shoulders heavy and broad. It was the kind of frame you could dig your fingernails into if you were on top. _Holy shit, stop it, brain!_

Sam led the way, Rachel following him toward the Impala. They stopped at the back, and Sam popped the trunk, Rachel in awe of the Devil's Trap under the hood. "Nice," she remarked, tracing her small fingers over it, her shoulder brushing Sam's arm as she reached.

Sam's breath hitched, though it went unnoticed to Rachel. "Thanks." He drew over a duffle bag and unzipped it, taking out a box of bullets. "Bullets preloaded with Dead Man's Blood," he explained. "More efficient than decapitation, less mess."

"That's brilliant," Rachel murmured, taking a bullet from the box and examining it. "You're probably making a fortune selling these."

Sam shook his head. "We don't sell 'em. We just teach whoever wants to learn."

Rachel looked up at him from the bullet. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "I could teach you, if you're ever in town." He was so close, and it created an ache she felt dirty for having. His body felt nearly like a magnet to hers, and she wanted to be stuck to it in the worst way.

Heat spread through her from his smoldering gaze. She had to look away, choosing to focus on his shoulder. "Can't say I've ever had the pleasure of seeing Kansas," she remarked, rolling the bullet between her fingers to distract her from her less than platonic thoughts.

Sam's mouth curled up at the side. "Never?" Rachel dared to meet his eyes again as she looked back up. "Hmm. That's a shame. You should definitely … come, then," he countered, a huskiness to his voice that nearly made her knees buckle as he inched closer. "There's a lot to see." _Christ on a cracker. He is not being shy and I'm really, really not mad about it._

"How would I look you up?" Rachel challenged, pulse racing through their flirting, feeling as if beads of sweat were forming on her brow despite the coldness.

Sam's tongue darted over his lips. "I could always give you my number. So you have it. You know … For a lesson."

Rachel gave an awkward laugh. If she didn't laugh, she would more than likely say something idiotic or make an even weirder sound. "Smooth. Must have a lot of experience picking girls up with lines like that."

"No," he admitted genuinely, gaining her attention back. She swore she saw his eyes get darker. "But I've got experience in what matters."

 _Oh fuck. Oh fuck._ This perfect specimen of a man was destroying her will to resist and be a respectable woman. She was one dimpled smile away from hoisting herself up onto his rock hard body and letting him teach her whatever he wanted to. Rachel handed him the bullet, moving away as Sam closed the trunk. She needed space, but didn't want it at the same time. "You sure you're not cold?" she asked.

"I'm good," he assured. "Wanna sit?" Before she could respond, he moved to the long front end of the Impala that faced away from the bar, patting the hood. "I figured this is probably less creepy than me asking you to sit inside."

Rachel watched as he swung his legs up easily on the hood. She managed to mostly lift herself up next to him, Sam helping her the rest of the way until they were shoulder to arm, no space between them. "You okay?" he asked, dipping his chin down to look at her. She nodded, catching a glimpse of the night sky. It was littered with bright stars, radiant and clear.

"It's beautiful tonight," she said softly, keeping her focus upward. The stars seemed to cool her jets a bit despite hers and Sam's proximity.

"It is," she heard Sam reply next to her. Her chest tightened as she caught his blatant staring out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't referring to the sky. Blushing, she ducked her focus down onto her thighs, smoothing her jeans. "So, where would you be right now if you weren't here?" he asked.

Rachel kept her focus downward as she thought about his question. "Realistically, or unrealistically?"

"How about both?"

With a sigh, Rachel looked up and stared into the vastness ahead of them. "Realistically, I would probably be in some crappy motel, watching crappy porn and eating crappy food." She laughed, Sam chuckling with her.

"Unrealistically?" he asked.

Rachel drew in a deep breath, her mind drifting. "The ocean," she murmured. "I'd have my toes in the sand, and feel the waves run over my skin. Smell the salt that didn't come from a can to ward ghosts. I'd spread out a blanket and just fall asleep listening to the waves."

It was quiet between them for a moment. "That sounds perfect," Sam finally said softly. "What beach do you like to go to?"

Rachel shrugged. "Never been."

"Seriously?" Sam's brow arched. "You're from New York. It's not that far."

"My … My childhood was shitty."

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, seemingly concerned. "I …" Sam swallowed. "I hate that it was for you."

It was all too much. His obvious interest and tender empathy was more than foreign. And way more than unexpected. The more he talked, the more she was convinced this was a huge prank. How could this guy ever be interested in her? He wasn't. It was for money. Betting on who could pick up the most women was a shitty way to rack up funds, but he certainly was adept at using what the good Lord gave him. "Alright," she said with a sigh, falling back on her snappy behavior as she connected the dots, "give it up—what's the deal, Giant?"

Brow wrinkled, Sam shook his head. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him expectantly. "What are you winning?"

Sam was even more confused. "Winning?"

"From this."

"From … what?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "This," she waved between them.

Sam scoffed. "You think this is a set up?"

Rachel pursed her lips, sliding off his jacket and leaving it behind herself. She was instantly freezing despite her anger. "I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately? I'm not some dumb, horny drunk chick. I'm a hunter. And I know how hunters get creative for cash. Though I will say, this is a _lot_ less respectful than a pool hustle."

As she went to get off the hood, he took her hand and stopped her. "Rachel, this isn't a bet."

"Uh-huh."

"It isn't."

"Please," Rachel said, defeat in her tone. "I get it. You need money. Just … let me retain a little self respect, okay? Don't worry. I'll corroborate the story so you get paid."

"Stop," Sam ordered in a firm voice. He held her back from leaving, surprising her with a powerful, imposing grip. "Just listen to me. There is no bet. No prank. No hustle. Just me."

It was easier to believe in it all being a set up. His truth made her heart stop, her stomach doing flips. "Not everyone has an agenda," he said softly. "Not everyone just wants to use you. Some people want to take care of you. Some people just want to be with you for _you_." His perceptiveness shocked her, a chill running up her spine. He drew the coat back over her shoulders, tightening it around her as if it were a shield. She watched his meticulous fussing, stunned. He was protecting her. "I'm sorry you've had so much pain," he continued. "But believe me, this isn't a part of that. I wouldn't do that to you. And I honest to God would love to beat the shit out of whoever was a part in it before." He tucked her hair behind her ear, taking his time as his fingertips brushed across her skin. "You deserve more. Far more than you've probably ever received." His hand lowered, his focus remaining on her.

Rachel felt her eyes welling with tears, unable to tear herself away from Sam's eyes. His touch was more than soothing. It was healing, and so familiar. As if she knew it well already, and it already belonged to her. She needed a distraction. "What about you?" she managed, a quiver in her voice.

"What about me?"

"Where would you be if you weren't here?"

Sam smiled softly. "Realistically, or unrealistically?"

"Both."

He drew in a contemplative breath. "Realistically, I'd be home in our bunker library, probably reading."

"What, like James Patterson? Stephen King?"

"Non-fiction. Most likely lure books."

Rachel's lips pursed together. "Huh. Wow."

"Yeah. I don't get out much," Sam admitted with a laugh.

"You're out now, bookworm," she countered.

"Yeah," he murmured.

"But it's not your scene," she concluded softly.

"It's all the same," Sam explained. "All … momentary. Detached. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing to build on. Nothing to grow with. But, that's the life of a hunter, I guess. Can't really have roots if they're always at risk."

Rachel's stomach fluttered at the thought. Sam was right. Bars like Freebird were made for hunters. It was a lonely existence, never being able to truly connect with someone, for fear that they would be hurt by what you eagerly searched out. The typical suburban existence was a pipe dream very few hunters ever got. "What about unrealistically?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam shrugged. "I don't really know. Never thought about it."

"Come on. First thing that pops into your head."

After a pause, Sam shook his head immediately, looking down as he blushed. "Can't tell you," he replied.

Rachel scoffed. "No fair, I told you mine."

"I … I just can't."

Brow arched, she studied his profile. She was hooked. He was avoiding eye contact. "Come on," she urged, playfully knocking against his arm with hers. He shook his head. "Do you have like a weird toy store fetish or something?" she asked.

Sam looked up quickly. "What?! No!"

"Then where would you be?"

"I … It's not … My first thought is ... It's … Not appropriate."

Now Rachel's curiosity was even more piqued. "Like, sex in a church pew at a funeral inappropriate?"

"No. I mean … it's kinda … It's just …"

"Jeez, don't hurt yourself. Spit it out." Sam ran a hand through his hair; she saw the war he was having internally. "I promise not to laugh," she vowed. "Even if it's a clown thing."

"It's definitely _not_ that," Sam corrected.

"Okay, so no clowns." Rachel waited, her pulse speeding up as she saw Sam close to spilling the beans. "Tell me. I won't bite."

Drawing in a breath, he finally met her eyes. They searched hers intently, flicking focus between her irises and her parted lips. He somehow had gotten even closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath skim her cheek. "Unrealistically … I'd be at the beach with you, showing you just how incredible you are, and how you deserve to be treated," he finally murmured.

Rachel swore her heart stopped for at least a straight minute. She might've actually died. Sam held her shocked gaze while seemingly holding on to his confidence he mustered up. And then he gained more, his right hand cupping her left cheek. His palms were enormous, his fingers long as they stretched to the roots of her hair. Heat blazed through her entire being, an explosion of powerful electricity and desire coursing through her veins as his thumb stroked her chin, then dared to run over her bottom lip with a painfully slow swipe.

Rachel leaned in and grabbed his thick flannel covered shoulders, straddling him as she pressed her mouth to his. He swallowed her fevered moan as she dug her nails into his muscles, his own grunt rumbling in his throat as he tasted her. "Rachel," he breathed reverently as they briefly parted, his other hand quickly cupping the other side of her face. They gasped between bruising kisses, his mouth heavy and tongue demanding as his left hand gently tugged her hair. His right hand skimmed down her back under his jacket, pressing her possessively against himself.

As quick as their flurry of desire spun together, Sam pulled away from Rachel with as much urgency. He looked pained. "You'd better tell me right now if you want me to stop," he warned, his lips brushing her cheek. "Because if you don't, I won't stop. Ever."

"Is that a promise?" Rachel dared in a whisper.

Sam groaned, pressing his forehead against hers. "Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Rachel," he said louder as she failed to reply. "Tell me to stop."

Rachel lifted his face up between her palms and searching his eyes. The contrast between his hair and his stubble was somehow soothingly familiar. "No."

Sam trapped her mouth, drawing in her bottom lip and thoroughly tasting her. He parted again, still pained as he examined her. "Then you're mine," he said firmly, chest still heaving from fevered breaths as he raked through her hair, cradling her head. His free hand found the dip in her spine, tracing it as he wet his lips. "No one else's. And I am yours. I don't want something temporary or meaningless."

Rachel focused on his eyes, his words halting every fiery sensation that was assaulting her. He said that to her before. Deep in her gut, she knew it to be true. _What?!_ It made no sense, but her heart was screaming it despite her doubt. Sam said that to her before. In some other life, he had claimed her just as he did in the moment. She he knew it. "What did you say?" she whispered.

Sam didn't seemed bothered by her pause. "I'm yours. And you're mine. All mine."

"Rachel!"

Rachel turned toward the third voice, seeing Vance stalking toward them. Stunned, she remained in Sam's arms, watching his slow approach. "What the hell is this?" Vance growled at her, fuming.

"Vance," she breathed, stunned.

* * *

"Code Blue! Intensive Care Unit! Code Blue! Intensive Care Unit!"

The warning voice on the overhead sound system, as well as the nurse inside yelling, immediately grabbed the attention of the nurses across from Rachel's room. "Code Blue!" the nurse shouted. "I need a crash chart now!"

A half dozen nurses flooded the room, the nurse who found Rachel with no pulse swiftly lowering Rachel to a flat position on the bed and beginning chest compressions. The other nurses assumed various places around her, one taking charge. "What happened?" she asked.

"We have a twenty-eight year old female, admitted seven hours ago in a coma. She has no known medical history. Found on routine check with no pulse."

The head nurse from the unit took over compressions as the others around her milled about, one placing a mask with a bulb attached over Rachel's face. "Pulseless v-tach," the nurse across from her said, analyzing the monitor.

"One milligram of epi," the lead nurse ordered, another presenting a large syringe and quickly injecting it into Rachel's IV as the compressions continued. "Hang saline," she instructed, the team nurse produced the saline bag he then attached to the IV pole.

"Two minutes," the documenting nurse called out.

"No pulse," a nurse added.

"Begin charging," the lead nurse ordered to the two people beside the crash chart.

"Charging!" one responded back as the other quickly yanked down Rachel's hospital gown, the second nurse readying the paddles.

"Defibrillate at one-hundred fifty joules!"

"Clear!"

The shock was delivered, Rachel's body lifting from the power, briefly disrupting the erratic behavior of her heart before it resumed. As the lead nurse continued chest compressions, the on-call doctor came in, quickly putting on a pair of gloves. "What's her status?" he asked.

"Twenty-eight year old female admitted seven hours ago in a coma," the documenter called out. "No known medical history. She's now in pulseless v-tach, and has been unresponsive for two and a half minutes. Her O2 set is currently at ninety-six percent."

"Give me three hundred milligrams of amiodarone," the doctor instructed. They waited for what felt like forever after it was administered. "Check her pulse."

The lead nurse stopped compressions, checking Rachel's pulse. "Still no pulse."


	100. Chapter 99

Vance glared at Sam. "Get your hands off her!"

Somewhat ignoring him, Sam kissed Rachel's forehead tenderly before he parted from her. "Stay with me," he urged quietly. He swung his legs over the hood and stood on the ground, taking Rachel's waist and helping her down beside the car. Rachel saw the venom in his eyes as he shielded her behind himself. "Back off," Sam snarled to Vance, who was fuming as he came within a few feet. "You don't belong here."

" _You_ back off," Vance spat. He flicked his eyes to what he could see of Rachel. "Rachel, come here."

"Vance," Rachel pleaded, stepping around Sam's stretched arms to stand between them, still wearing Sam's jacket. "He's fine."

"Rachel!" Sam begged. "Don't! Stay with me!"

Vance eyed him. "He's poison, Rachel. Get behind me." Torn, Rachel glanced at Sam as he lowered his arms, he holding her gaze. "Behind me," Vance ordered.

Rachel looked to him. "He's not a bad person. He's a hunter too."

"Trust me," he sneered, flicking his gaze back to Sam, "I know all about him. Sam Winchester, the demon-blooded freak." Rachel's eyes widened as she looked back at Sam, whose jaw ticked as he glared down at Vance. "He's a disgusting monster. A selfish liar who's killed a lot of innocent people for his thirst. Isn't that right, Sam?"

"She's _mine,_ " Sam snarled, fuming. "She will never be yours."

Vance smirked. "Oh yes she will. She already is."

"Rachel," Sam called out, catching her eyes. "Listen to me carefully. You know me already."

"What?" Rachel asked, shocked at how he was confirming her inner feelings.

"This … This isn't how we met, but everything else between us is real." Sam drew in a breath. "Everything you felt is genuine, because on another plane of existence, you and I are together. _We_ are real. He isn't."

Vance laughed. "Fucking whack job."

Sam ignored him. "I know you feel it. I know you're remembering. I know you're fighting. Keep fighting him. Come back to me."

Rachel's lips parted. "What did you say?"

"Come back to me, baby girl. Robbie needs you. I need you. We all do."

Her pulse skyrocketed. His plea was so familiar despite the oddity of his words, and the mention of a Robbie made her ache with sorrow. Why? "Sam …"

"Sweetheart, come back to me," Sam begged, reaching out his hand. "You have to take my hand. Don't let him win. You need to tell him to leave!"

Mouth open, Rachel looked between the two. A perfect stranger was begging her to choose him over someone she knew for nearly a year. Yet, somehow, it made sense. She couldn't deny their connection, how electric it felt to be with him, how much like home Sam was. But was he just insane? Was she insane for considering choosing him?

"Rachel," Vance said with a sureness that angered Sam, "are you really going to choose a psycho stranger over your friend?"

"But …" Rachel felt sick, confused. "Sam," she whispered pleadingly. "Why am I here then?"

"Because of him," Sam snapped. "This dick got in your head, and now he's trying to control you. He's mad because you're taking back control."

"Be quiet, dog," Vance growled.

"He would never want you to imagine me, to remember us," Sam continued, "but you did. Because you're stronger than he is. And he knows it."

"He's insane," Vance laughed. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"Ignore him."

"Ignore me? You're the disgusting filth that needs to be ignored."

"She won't choose you. I'll never let you take her!"

Rachel's head felt like it was ready to explode. She had to make a choice, and neither felt quite right. "Stop!" she screamed, silencing them both. Her hands shook at her sides, her heart racing. Both men looked at her expectantly. Vance's expression made her feel insane for even considering choosing Sam, but Sam's expression bore into her heart. "I … I don't choose."

* * *

"Dean," Sam huffed into the phone outside of the hospital, "if we expose her, we are _asking_ for her to be killed."

"We can't risk it physically!" Dean argued back. "Her body is weak. And without Robbie's power—"

"He can't …" Sam shuddered. "I can't ask him to do this. She'd never forgive me. All she wants for him is a normal life. A normal childhood."

"I know that, Sam, but outside of the hospital, he's our only option."

Sam shut his eyes, barely trapping his tears. "We have forty-eight hours," he said softly. "We need a plan by then."

He hung up the phone, not waiting for his brother's response. He couldn't let Robbie grow. Could he? If Rachel lived, she'd never forgive him for sacrificing his normal life for her. Besides, he didn't know what Robbie was even capable of. What if he killed her trying to save her, and it was all for nought?

Angry, Sam re-entered the hospital and wove his way back down the ICU hall, rubbing his temples. They had no real choice. To keep Rachel safe, they'd have to bring her home. And to do that, Robbie had to grow. Rachel might be mad at him for the rest of his life. She might even leave him. But she'd have a life to live.

As Sam rounded the corner, his heart dropped at the distant barking of orders coming from what looked like Rachel's room. He immediately ran toward it, barely missing a cart and a couple other people. Skidding to a stop, his stomach fell, his eyes wide as he saw Rachel's lithe body lift off the bed from another shock. "Rachel!" he shouted, shoving into the room despite the crowd.

"Get him out of here," the doctor snapped to the readied security guards.

The two security officers snagged him, dragging him backward. Sam growled, ripping at their grip as he fought them. "Rachel!"

"Outside," one guard ordered, both fighting heavily to hold Sam back.

From inside the room, the doctor ordered, "Get me another milligram of epi." The nurse injected more into Rachel's IV line as a new nurse resumed chest compressions.

"Get off of me!" Sam shouted, furiously fighting against the guards. As he snarled at them, another came, helping to remove Sam from the room. "Let me go!" Sam yelled, desperately trying to see Rachel as he was dragged further away.

"Code White in ICU," one security guard managed into his radio as he tried to hold Sam back.

"Defibrillate at two-hundred jules," the doctor in Rachel's room ordered. Sam saw more guards approaching him, knowing he was the reason for the code called. He slowed, bile rushing up his throat as he watched helplessly from the grip of four men, tears blurring his vision.

"Still no pulse," the lead nurse said.

Sam shook, aching as he cried. "Please," he whispered, still tense in the guards' grips. "Please, baby girl."

* * *

Outside the bar, Sam's lips parted as he watched Rachel leave his side. "Baby, no!"

"You need to choose," Vance growled at her.

"No!" Rachel shouted, covering her ears. "You're both … This is some horrible nightmare. And I'm going to wake up at any time."

"Rachel, please!" Sam begged. "Don't run away from this! I know it sounds insane, but you're the only one who can undo what he's done! You _have_ to tell him to leave!"

"He's a stranger," Vance snapped. "A crazy freak with delusions. Come on, Rachel. Come with me."

Rachel's pulse kept racing faster and faster, a powerful ache in her head growing by the second. "Shut up," she pleaded in a whisper, pressing her palm to her forehead.

Sam's face creased with pain. "Baby, if you don't choose, it only gets worse. Please. I'm begging you. Please tell him to leave!"

Light seeped behind her closed eyes, growing brighter with each heartbeat until the pure stark whiteness of them made her fall to her knees. "Shut up!" she said a little louder.

"Rachel!" Vance snarled. "Get up and come to me!"

"Rachel, please!" Sam pleaded.

The vibrant whiteness exploded in her head, swirling around her like a vortex. " _Shut up_!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing her arms out to her sides. Her entire being was on fire, feeling like flames licked over every inch of her skin. " _Shut up_!"

Her voice radiated out over the landscape, casting a bellowing rippled ring of power that knocked both men down. She kept screaming out, her hands at her sides as the power waves decimated everything in their path. The Impala and all the other cars around it lifted into the air, flipping around until they crashed far away from them. Glass shattered, metal crunching as the cars landed in a giant twisted heap. The trees in the surrounding woods swayed under Rachel's fiery power, her eyes lit bright blue as she cast out a massive fireball from each of her palms. They joined and ignited a blaze stretching as far as the eye could see that instantly burned white hot, consuming everything in its path.

* * *

Inside Rachel's hospital room, one last shock shot through Rachel's body. Sam watched, his cheeks wet from his tears as he held his breath in anticipation. "We have a pulse!" the lead nurse shouted.

Sam gasped, a raspy shudder trembling through him. His ironclad grip on the officers holding him loosened, more tears falling as he watched the doctor feel for her pulse.

"Confirming pulse," the doctor said. "Let's get her on a ventilator and decompress her. Nurse Rosemore, set up a CT scan, electrocardiogram, imaging, and labs."

"Yes, sir," the nurse responded, exiting the room quickly.

Sam opened his mouth to speak as the nurse passed him, realizing she wasn't likely the best person to give an update.

"Walk, please," one of the guards said, interrupting his thoughts.

Somewhat resisting, Sam moved down the hall a bit with them, glancing back at Rachel's room. "Please. My fiancée just survived cardiac arrest. I need to see her." None of the guards responded. "Listen, I'm—"

"No talking," the guard growled.

The guard's behavior was odd, though Sam did consider that his own behavior might've warranted it. "I'm sorry," Sam said to the guards holding him, who didn't loosen their grip. "Please. I … I won't be an issue anymore. I need to see her."

The guards glanced to one another. One looked Sam in the eyes with a narrowed expression as they walked. "Sir, your outburst could have been detrimental to this patient's life."

Sam nodded, trying to be patient. "I understand—"

The guard shook his head. "I'm not sure you do, Sam Winchester."

Sam froze, his heart stopping. His breathing sped up a little. He resisted the pull of the guards, making one turn to him. The guard smiled, his eyes flashing iridescent blue for a brief moment. "My suggestion to you is, you cooperate to the fullest."

"You son of a bitch," Sam snarled under his breath, feeling the sharp point of a blade digging discreetly into his back under his jacket.

"Shh," the angel disguised as a guard whispered, the other digging the blade harder against Sam. "You'll want to watch your tongue, dog. We're highly capable of reversing our stellar treatment of Rachel's vessel." Sam growled, wincing as he felt the blade tear a smash gash across his lower back. "After all, we can always find another willing soul to host her power. Of course, we'd have to destroy this one, then."

"I'm going to kill you all," Sam seethed.

The angel smiled, leaning in. "No, you won't. Because any harm to us means harm to her. Besides, you'd be wise to get over her quickly. It's not like you'll have her once she's on our side, anyway."

"She'll never side with you."

"Even if it meant sparing you and your son?" The angel smiled at Sam's grimace. "Do the right thing, Sam. Keep your girl's soul in tact."

Flicking his eyes back toward Rachel's room, Sam gritted his teeth, returning his focus to the angel. "Good boy," the angel smirked as they dragged Sam away.


	101. Chapter 100

**100 chapters! Holy heck!**

 **Thanks for your support and reads! I would truly love your feedback in a review! Please leave one after you finish.**

 **I'm getting to the point of wrapping up this arc and moving through the remainder of S14, then into S15, while weaving in my original plot. Things are turning - which way do you think they will go?! :)**

* * *

Rachel blinked, looking around herself. The bar parking lot was gone, replaced with clear blue skies and the ocean. Her bare feet were dusted with the sand she stood in, the thin strapped white cotton dress she wore dancing in the salty breeze. A small group of seagulls flew overhead, giving a gentle cry, but beyond them, the beach was barren of life. Shells littered the water's edge, many more colorful than she ever imagined possible. The water was magnificently clear, foaming as it lapped at the shore, then slunk back out to sea.

Slowly, she walked, brow wrinkled as she looked for another soul. Yet as far as her eye could see, she was alone. Where had Sam gone? And Vance? What had she done to them? She remembered the blazing fire she caused, the way her scream twisted metal. How had she done that?

 _It was a dream. Just like this. I'll wake up soon._

But it wasn't. Clarity slowly washed over her as the waves licked over her feet. With each step, everything became clearer, until she had a better perception than she did when she blasted a hole into the bunker's kitchen wall. No, none of this was a dream. It was Eligos' worst nightmare. He had attempted to shove her in a corner, but the light of truth found her. Then he tried to scramble her further, but her mind proved stronger than his will. The beach she now stood in was the final frontier. He could no longer toy with her, and he knew it.

Patiently, she waited, letting the warm water wash over her skin as she examined the horizon. Would it be as easy as Sam and Dean had said at her bedside? Could she tell him to leave, and that would be it?

"You've surprised me."

Rachel turned to the voice, seeing the man she recognized as Eligos. He wore a white linen suit with brown loafers, his hands in his pockets as he examined her. "I must admit," he continued, "I didn't think you would resist me so much. After all, I gave you what you wanted."

"What I want is you gone," Rachel replied, her expression hardened. The air around her whipped her dark hair behind her like a cloak.

Eligos' mouth curled up at one side. "I'm afraid the Winchesters have led you wrong. Maybe for a lesser angel that would do, but that's not how this will go."

Rachel pressed her lips together. " _Leave_ ," she warned.

"As I said, it won't be that easy."

" _Leave now_!"

Eligos laughed. "You amuse me." He stepped closer to her, smiling down at her, his russet hair dancing in the breeze. "When you consumed me, you did more than just suck up a little extra grace." He slowly paced around her. "You renewed me. You rebirthed me. And now, there are two angels in one host, fighting for the last cookie."

"This has not, or ever will be, your host," she sneered.

"Surely you've heard of the human term Darwinism. It's the survival of the fittest." Rachel hated how he slithered around her like a snake. "We both want the half we can't have. Now, we see who is stronger."

"It's _mine_."

"As the vessel who consumed me, you're on the free market for me. Nothing is fully yours right now. Being generous, I did give you the chance to keep the idea of it. But you threw it away."

"It wasn't real."

"Reality is overrated. Especially now, for you."

Her brow wrinkled a little. "What do you mean?" she asked him as he stood behind her shoulder.

"You had a chance to stay in your human corner, to never have to suffer. I would've cared for your vessel while you lived a beautiful life in dreams. But that's not what you chose. You chose to do things the hard way. And neither of your remaining choices are pleasant for you."

She met his eyes as he came to stand in front of her. "And what are they?"

"The first is to surrender your vessel in full. The remainder of your humanity would be burned out, replaced with my full essence."

Rachel lifted her chin, trying not to show her fear. "And the second?"

With a knowing smile, Eligos looked her over. "We fight to your inevitable death."

"I could win," Rachel countered. "I'm the daughter of an archangel."

"You're the illegitimate halfbreed of a dead archangel," Eligos replied. "Sure, you have your grace. But you'll never win."

"Why not?"

"Because you're clinging to your humanity." Eligos smiled. "Your humanity will keep you soft. Weak. And you'd never do what it takes to have a chance at winning."

Rachel knew what he was referring to, but still needed the confirmation. "And what would that be?"

With a tilt of his head, Eligos' smile broadened. "You'd have to use your grace to its max potential. You'd have to give it all away." He leaned in. "That means, no more Future Mrs. Winchester. No more Mommy. No more Hunter. Only a warrior with a solitary, angelic focus." His breath was hot in her ear. "In short, darling … no more Rachel Lentz."

* * *

Dean growled, hanging up the phone. He had now tried Sam six times, leaving four messages. And he hadn't heard anything back. "I'm going down to the hospital," he decided, picking up his coat from the back of the library chair.

Mary's expression grew even more concerned. "Why wouldn't he answer?"

"I don't know. But I'm gonna find out."

"Wait," Castiel said, seemingly out of breath as he flashed into the room. "Dean, there are things you need to know," he continued.

"What?" Dean asked, jaw tightening.

"Rachel is … Her power just had an incredible surge. I felt it."

"She's awake?!"

"No."

"Then how did you feel it?"

"Her vessel's consciousness doesn't determine her vitality. But Dean … what I felt ... It's the kind of power that …"

"That what?" Dean demanded.

Castiel looked between him and Mary. "It's the kind of power that would permanently change her."

Dean's lips parted. "Wait, what?"

"She's fighting with it. I've heard the tremors on angel radio. She's tried to break the bond, but it appears the angel's essence requires more."

"So, if she's fighting," Mary said, "then isn't she rejecting it?"

"It's beyond a simple dismissal," Castiel murmured, pained at their frightened expressions. "Her fight is … It's far more complex."

"How complex?" Dean asked.

"Her unique position as a nephilim who consumed the secondary grace, means that half of her vessel is technically up for grabs."

"And you didn't think about that before you took her to Philadelphia?" Dean snapped.

"It wasn't on my radar, no," Castiel said coolly. "I didn't imagine there being another source of grace waiting." His face tightened, his anger and sadness evident. "She only has one conceivable hand left to play."

Mary stepped closer. "And what one is that?"

Castiel looked between them. "She … She would have to replace his bond entirely to eradicate him. She could no longer toe the line as a nephilim."

Dean glanced to his mother, then back to Castiel. "Cas, are you telling us that she …" He stopped, his stomach sick. "That if she uses her power to eject him …"

"Then she would no longer be a nephilim," Mary concluded softly.

"She'd … She wouldn't be human." Dean covered his mouth, his stomach dropping. His anger rose. "Cas, you said she just had to reject him. That's all."

"His essence is bound to her. Their other halves now are fighting for domination. Either she replaces it with her own, or—"

"Or he replaces her," Dean finished. He tossed his coat onto the table with a growl. His knuckles whitened around the back of the chair he held, his nostrils flaring. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled, whirling around and knocking over the books from the shelf behind him. He then took a display piece and threw it against the wall, it bursting into several pieces. "Why, Cas?!" he asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. "That girl … Rachel doesn't deserve this!" He panted. "Her whole life has been fucked because of fucking angels! And there isn't dick we can do about it!" He paused, then eyed Castiel. "So, what—we just accept that she's gone?! Huh?!" Mary and Castiel looked to the floor during his outburst, each wincing as Dean found more items to destroy. "What about Sam? What about Robbie?" His tears slipped down his cheeks despite his rage. "And you know what's the worst fucking part? She did this for _me_!" Dean growled, his desire to break things only rising, more books and even two swords clashing to the ground. "Because of that son of a bitch Michael and _me_!"

With a final angry attack on nearby chairs, Dean stopped, his cheeks wet with tears. The room grew quiet. Dean slumped into a chair he hadn't knocked over, burying his face into his palms.

"Castiel," Mary said softly, pained, "would she automatically become someone else?"

Castiel drew in a hesitant breath. "Every angel is born with a code of knowledge that is rarely questioned. Nephilims as well, though their humanity often overshadows it. … Rachel's archangel lineage holds incredible power. It's hard to say what will happen. But the odds … aren't in her favor."

No one spoke for a long time, Dean still holding his head. The room was eerily silent and a mess. "I need to talk to Sam," Dean decided a long while after, standing and taking up his coat again.

"Wait," Castiel said, gaining Dean's attention. "There's … There's more."

"The fuck do you mean?!"

Mary's eyes widened. "What is it?"

Castiel looked between them. "Sam's been taken."

"By who?!" Dean demanded.

"Angels," Castiel replied grimly.

"Why?!"

"They have no intention to harm him, or so they said. They just want to ensure the battle goes uninterrupted."

"But if she can't do anything else, why is he a threat?"

"It's more for when she awakens. If it ends in their favor, and she is 'reset,' he could potentially persuade her. Angels have free wills. They want to ensure he doesn't tamper with it and put ideas in her head. As soon as she wakes, they will likely take her back to Heaven."

Dean shrugged on his coat, furious as he started to leave the library for his weapons. "Then we need to get her back here. And I need Sam for that. Cas, get me to Sam now!"

"I don't know where he's being held," Castiel admitted, making Dean pause. "I don't … They've encoded themselves. I don't have the power."

"I do."

The three turned to the small voice, seeing Robbie standing confidently in the entryway to the room. Despite being the most powerful being on earth—or anywhere, possibly—all Dean saw was an innocent eight year-old boy. "I can find Dad," Robbie said with sureness. "And if I can get to the hospital, I can help Mom fight. Then she won't need all her power. And she can still be part human."

Mary's lips parted as she looked to Dean, who shut his eyes. No one spoke. "Please, Uncle Dean," Robbie said, moving to him around the debris Dean created and taking his hand. It was so small compared to his. "Please let me help."

"You could get hurt," Dean objected softly, terrified of bringing Robbie into the middle.

"If I don't help, I'll lose Mom and Dad."

Dean opened his eyes, looking down at his nephew. Despite his gifts, he was only a little boy. His body was so small, his reasoning so simple. He looked the same age as Sam was when he took care of him in motel rooms while their father hunted, making him Spaghetti Os and protecting him from the darkness. And he had the same pleading eyes, the same pained willingness to try things that could get him killed. Dean never wanted that for Sam. And he didn't want it now for Robbie. "Please, Uncle Dean," Robbie repeated, never sounding more sure. "I can help."

Dean stroked the boy's hair, noting how soft it was under his hands. His hand came to rest on his nephew's shoulder as he squatted down to his eye level. "Robbie, your mom and dad would never want this for you."

"And I don't want them to die!" Robbie argued. Dean's heart broke as he watched the boy's eyes water, then tiny tears fall down his cheeks. "Please," Robbie whispered. "This is why I was born. I _know_ it is. Remember? I told you before, I know what I need to do."

Dean's stomach heaved at the idea. Robbie was born for more than this moment in life. Wasn't he? He couldn't exist just to …

With a shudder, Dean glanced up at Mary and Castiel. Their expressions were as pained as his. He met his nephew's eyes, losing himself in a memory of the moment after he was born.

 _Mary handed Dean the impossibly small newborn after his umbilical cord was cleanly severed by Bobby with Sam's knife, then he cleaned of mucus and dressed. Dean didn't even have time to object or state his terror of being responsible for him. His hands shook as he held the swaddled bundle, unable to help but stare at the red faced baby in his arms. Robbie was beautiful. His hair was a wet mop of dark silk on his tiny head, his nose scrunched as he cried like Sam's would when he was angry. His chin held a sure dimple, his cheeks soft like Rachel. His fight, though, was nothing like he expected. The baby pushed and shoved against Dean's hold. It actually hurt. His cries pierced the air like near literal daggers, the screams ringing through Dean's head. He was so human and so not, all at once._

 _Sam's sobs caught his attention. Dean's eyes flooded with more tears as he watched his brother weep over Rachel's dead body. The sight of him pleading for her to breathe made him vomit. He gagged, managing to swallow it back down before it sputtered out of his mouth. The acid burned at his throat, the baby still jabbing at him for his freedom._

 _Mary touched Dean's arm gently, gaining his attention. "Let's go," she said quietly. Bobby stood behind her, hefting bloody linens as they left the room._

 _Dean reluctantly followed, trying to soothe his nephew. "Shh," he whispered, "it's alright, Little Man. Daddy and I will take care of you. We all will."_

 _With a suddenness that stopped Dean's heart, Robbie stopped crying. His face relaxed, his tiny eyes focusing up at Dean as he held him. In that moment, Dean swore he heard a voice reply to him. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he didn't hear it, though he couldn't help but believe with everything within him that he had. He never told Sam, or Rachel after she was healed by their son, but that tiny voice and the words spoken haunted him nearly every night in his sleep. As if it were some kind of terrible hourglass of time, each passing grain in each word a reminder of this moment he now faced:_

" _Don't worry. I know what I need to do."_

Blinking through his tears, Dean slowly nodded. "Alright," he whispered back, choking on the words. It felt like a death sentence for his nephew. "But you need to promise me something." Robbie nodded. "You promise me that you don't listen to their lies. Because they _will_ lie to you, Robbie. They want you and they _will lie_. You listen to your dad, your mom, me, and Uncle Cas. That's it. Got it?"

"Promise."

Dean drew the boy up into his arms, feeling like he wanted to hurl as he pressed him to himself in a tight hug. His fingers stretched over the washworn cotton of the boy's Led Zeppelin t-shirt and his jeans, his small boot covered feet knocking into Dean's knees as they swayed. Looking to Castiel, Dean nodded. "Let's go."

As Castiel moved ahead of him, Dean paused and looked into his nephew's eyes. "You were born for more than this, Robbie." Robbie just smiled, stroking his uncle's face. His silence did nothing to ease Dean. "You _were,_ " he nearly pleaded, trying not to be heard.

"Don't worry, Uncle Dean," Robbie replied. "I know what I need to do."


	102. Chapter 101

**Emotional stuff happening! Let me know what you're thinking! I see you reading! :-P 3**

 **Thank you for the reads! I'd love some reviews! :)**

* * *

Sam sat in the abandoned hospital basement room the angels took him to, bound to his chair by one of their powers. "So, what — you think she will go with you dicks?" he said, hating how he could barely move.

"As I said before," the lead angel sighed, "she most certainly will."

"Even if she is an angel, she's not an idiot like the rest of you."

The lead angel smirked. "You have no understanding of what is happening to her, do you?" His words made Sam tense, his nostrils flaring a little. "It's not as simple as you've told her it is, or as Castiel originally thought." The angel moved closer. "See, Rachel is a nephilim. Which means she's only half human."

"No shit," Sam sneered. He growled angrily as one of the other angels backhanded him.

"Because of this," the lead angel continued, "there is still half of her can be used for angel occupation. She ingested two life sources. One half isn't enough for either of them."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked, his tone softened with his fear.

"Two angels, Sam. Sharing one body. The essence she took cannot survive on half of a vessel. Nor can she fight its power to regain control with only half of her grace."

Sam's heart raced as he connected the dots. His hands flexed behind his back, he still tightly bound. "So she … has to choose."

"Except, if she chooses humanity, she chooses to give herself up and be the other angel's vessel in full."

Lips parting, Sam's pulse shot through the roof. "And if she uses her grace?"

The lead angel examined him for a long moment. "Then she is no longer a nephilim. She would be as close to a full power archangel as she could be." Sam's jaw ticked as he grit his teeth. "Either way," the angel continued, "the Rachel you know is gone for good."

"No," Sam shook his head defiantly. "You don't know her. She will come through this. And she'll destroy all of you."

The lead angel laughed, smoothing his guard uniform. "I like your misguided optimism. But the fact is, once she hits the reset button, like we know she will, she simply won't care about you. Or Robbie, or Dean, or anything to do with your cause." He leaned closer. "All she will care about is assuming her new position as our leader. Then she will retrieve the boy for us so we can destroy him."

"I don't believe you," Sam managed, trying to hold it together, though his mind was reeling with doubt.

Giving a big sigh, the lead angel pressed its lips together. "You really should, Sam. It will help with the inevitable pain of losing your lover forever."

Sam wrestled at the bonds that held him, his anger more than apparent in his expression. "I can't wait to watch her end you."

The lead angel laughed softly to itself. "I can't wait to see your face when she walks away, not remembering a thing about you."

* * *

Rachel drew in a deep breath, eyeing Eligos. "First, you said I surprised you. Now, you're placing all your bets against me."

Eligos shrugged. "So your mind was stronger than I anticipated. There's nothing terribly shocking about you putting up a fight. But I know you're not ready to give it all up." He smirked. "Deep down, you've got this little spark of human hope that nothing will change when you fight me. And that's where _you're_ putting all _your_ bets."

Rachel looked out to the waves, drawing in a deep breath of salty air. "So, when does this happen? Right now?"

"Whenever you're ready," Eligos replied.

Keeping her focus on the waves, Rachel let the reality sink in. Eligos was right — she was hopeful that she wouldn't change with her powers. But she had to face the truth. There was a definite possibility. The odds were stacked against her. Fighting was now her only semisolid choice. She wouldn't allow her body to be occupied by Eligos. Even if she was wiped clean, it was a fate better to be someone else entirely than him. It was better than her body being used to destroy those she loved.

Her plan was messy, but the only one she was willing to go with. If she was an archangel, she could be bound with cuffs and taken to the bunker. They could ward the dungeon and keep her there, then extract all her grace. Then, maybe, she would be herself again. It was a risky plan, and it would hurt like hell, but it was the only one left. She just had to tell Sam before she forgot who she was.

"I want to speak with Sam Winchester," she said, not moving her gaze from the ocean. "Then..." she added, looking back at him, "...then I'll watch you lose."

Eligos laughed. "You, demanding things? How naive."

"If you want the other half, we bring him into the fold," Rachel replied firmly. "Then you can have your war."

With an arched brow, Eligos slowly nodded. "Fine. But he will need to give me permission to enter his vessel."

"I can't trust you with that," Rachel countered. "You'll bring him to this space. Whole. When I'm done, we can begin."

"You expect me to exert my power for him? I'll weaken. That's what you want."

Rachel eyed him. "Then I'll use my own."

"To bring a human into this realm of consciousness is dangerous," Eligos warned. "Their vessels cannot handle it."

"Sam's can."

"Ah yes. Lucifer's 'perfect vessel.' Fine," Eligos shrugged. "Suit yourself. But he'd better not interfere."

"He won't," Rachel assured. "You have my word, so long as I have yours."

Eligos narrowed his look, silent for a heavy moment. "What game are you playing?"

Rachel smiled sadly. "I'm not. I just want to see him one last time. As me."

His chuckle made Rachel irritated. "Go ahead. Be my guest. I won't interfere." He gave her a cocky smile. "Hope he doesn't burn."

* * *

Sam winced, his brow wrinkled as a sharp pain jolted him in between his eyes. It grew stronger each second that passed. He swallowed hard, tensing against his invisible bonds. "Why are you doing this?" he asked in a gasp, barely able to speak.

The angels holding him captive looked to each other, confused. "Doing what?" the lead one asked, panicked.

The pressure built at harrowing speeds. Sam groaned, throwing his head back and crying out as it rose to a boil. "Is he …?" one of the angels murmured, all of them admittedly scared. Sam kept growling as he was pressed and pushed.

"It's her," the lead angel said with a sneer. "I can feel her resonating. She's drawing him to another plane!"

Before the angels could move, Sam was gone.

* * *

Sam tumbled onto the sand, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him from his landing. He pressed his palms to the shore, trying to regain his breath as he took in his surroundings. Where was he? It was real — there was no doubt of that. Somehow, he had been brought to somewhere through a power beyond his understanding.

He slowly stood, looking around. The beach was picturesque, pristine. Quiet, solemn. Cleansing. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, the salty air ruffling his hair and his plaid shirt. Why was he here? How did he get here?

"Sam."

Sam spun around, aghast as he took in Rachel in her white dress, her hair twisting in the wind. She looked absolutely radiant and ethereal. He hurriedly crossed the distance between them, only halting when he grew hesitant. "I'm dreaming," he murmured, seeing Rachel smile.

"No, you're not, Sammy," she assured. She closed the gap, stroking his bearded face.

Sam shuddered as he felt her familiar soft touch. "I have to be."

"I promise you, you're not."

"You're in a coma. In a hospital. In a different place than I am … was."

"I know." She smiled as Sam leaned into her touch despite his doubt and kissed her palm. "I brought you to another plane. So we could see each other."

Brow furrowed, Sam covered Rachel's hand that rested against his cheek, drawing it down to press it against his chest. He drew her close, covering her mouth with a hungry kiss. His free hand sunk into her hair. It was midnight silk. He caught her every whimper, every moan with his lips and tongue, heady satisfaction consuming him. She was oxygen, sweet life-giving nectar — and he was more than starved.

When they parted, Rachel shut her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "How is this possible?" Sam asked, his fingers running over her skin. He tucked her hair behind her ear, just as he always did.

"You were Lucifer's perfect vessel," Rachel explained. "Your body can handle being here."

"Your power did this?"

Rachel nodded, staring at their joined hands. She drew in a deep breath. "I know you know what I'm going to do," she murmured as she watched him intertwine their fingers. She felt how he stiffened. "Sam—"

"Baby girl," he whispered, "Listen to me. I'll find another way. This isn't it." He tipped her chin up with his free hand to look into her eyes. "This isn't the way."

Smiling sadly, she searched his eyes. "You and I both know it is." Sam furiously shook his head. "It is," she repeated.

"You could die," he snapped.

She eyed him. "Either way, I die. And I would rather die as a stranger than die to be the one who kills you."

Sam was clearly not buying it. "You can't do this. I'll find something. Another way. There's always another-"

"No," Rachel whispered, her finger resting on his lips. "There isn't. Not this time."

"I won't let you do this," he whispered back, his eyes glassy, blinking through his tears.

Rachel smirked. "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't 'let' me do anything."

* * *

Robbie tugged on Dean's flannel shirt, halting his uncle before they could leave the bunker for the hospital. His small brows wrinkled as he focused on the wall next to them. "What is it, buddy?" Dean asked, confused.

"Mom," he whispered, following the sound that remained hidden to everyone else.

Castiel was at the door; he looked back, seeing Robbie moving away from Dean. "What's wrong?" he asked as he walked back, seeing Dean's confusion.

"He said he heard Rachel," Dean replied.

"And Dad," Robbie added softly, taking a step closer to the wall as he listened. A wide smile broke out across his face. "They're together!"

"Together where?" Dean asked, his pulse quickening. "Is your mom awake?"

"Uh-huh, and she's talking to Dad."

"About what?"

"Uh … About doing something."

Dean was freaking out. He crouched next to Robbie, turning his nephew to face him. "Doing what?" he asked desperately. "Where are they? Are they okay?"

Robbie nodded. "They're okay. They're sad. Really sad."

"Why are they sad?" Mary asked as she crossed to them.

"I don't know."

"Where are they?" Dean repeated. "At the hospital?"

"No," Robbie shook his head. "They're at the beach."

The three adults looked at each other, trying to see if it made sense to anyone. "The beach?" Castiel asked.

"Uh-huh." Robbie turned his focus to Dean. "I'll be right back."

Before any of the adults could speak, Robbie was gone. "Robbie?!" Dean shouted, terrified. He stood up, looking around as Mary and Castiel called out to the boy. "Cas, where did he go?" Dean demanded.

Castiel shook his head. "I … I don't know. It's nowhere I can hear."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"He's elsewhere, Dean. He's a nephilim with demon blood. He's far more powerful than me. There are limits to what each tier of angel can have access to."

"Then how is Sam wherever they are?"

"Look," Mary said softly, "I think Robbie's just overwhelmed. He probably just teleported somewhere to work out his emotions." She sighed. "I'll check his room."

"He's not just somewhere," Castiel mumbled as Mary walked away. "He's nowhere I've ever been. It has to be another plane of existence. It's limited only to the strongest of angels."

Dean was irritated and panicked. "Another plane of … existence? But how is Sam there?"

After a pause, Castiel nodded his head. "Ah. He's Lucifer's perfect vessel. He is equipped to withstand it."

"And Robbie went there?"

"I assume."

"So Rachel teleported them there? She's awake?"

"No. She manifested her soul to the other plane, I'm guessing. It takes quite a bit of power to do so. But as an archangel heir, she would be capable. Kind of how Gabriel made his illusions. Her time spent with the other angel seems to have revealed some of her powers to herself."

"So … her body is in the hospital. But Sam's body is in the other plane of existence? Which is apparently a beach?"

"And now Robbie is there too."

Dean ran a hair over his hair. "So, what do we do?"

Castiel moved to the maps table and took a seat. "Nothing. We have to wait for them to come back."

"Nothing?" Dean scoffed. "Cas, my brother is in outer space somewhere with my sister's soul and my kid nephew. And I'm supposed to just sit here?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replied flatly. "That is exactly what you can do."

Grumbling, Dean shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the table. "I need a drink," he muttered. "Stay on the radio."

Castiel sighed as Dean left for the kitchen. The only reason Rachel would manifest herself and use so much of her power would be because it was the only way to see Sam. She was planning on restoring herself to her full capacity. And that meant a strong chance she would never be the same Rachel again.

* * *

Each second that passed decimated Sam's and Rachel's hearts, the truth more than either of them wanted to bare. "I know how much this will hurt if … if I'm … not me anymore," she whispered as he pressed her close.

Sam clung to his denial, his tears flowing freely. "If we utilize Robbie's powers—"

"Sam," Rachel said, her voice a bit firmer. "Listen to me. It's okay."

"The hell it is!" Sam said, his face creased with unimaginable pain. "This is _anything_ but 'okay!'"

Hers mirrored it. "This is what I _need_ to do. To stop him from hurting anyone else." She stroked his cheek. His beard was wet with his tears, his eyes bloodshot. "You can't tell me that this isn't something you would do if you were in my place."

"It's … I can't," he shuddered. "I can't lose you. Not again. Not a third time."

"Third time's the charm," Rachel joked, quickly realizing how awkward it was. She winced; she was desperate to put a smile on his face, to allow him a happy last moment.

Sam couldn't process her truth of what she was proposing, everything in him denying it. "If you could just buy time … Maybe I could find something," he begged, stumbling over his words as he tried to convince her. "I could ask Rowena or … or … I could … Maybe in the archives—"

"No," Rachel interrupted, clinging to Sam's arm as he kept her impossibly close. She raked her fingers through his hair. "You've tried to shoulder it all ever since we met, to find a way to keep me from facing darkness. You can't this time. I have to do this alone."

"No!"

"I do. This is how it ends."

His denial grew, mixing with raw anger. Not at her, but at the place he once again stood. "I've damned you," he growled, pressing his fingertips firmly to her mouth to silence her as she tried to object. "You can say that you chose this, that you chose me, as much as you want. But you didn't. You _didn't_ choose _this_. You _didn't_ choose to me, just _to die_. You chose me because I could be your partner, not the goddamn sonofabitch who gets you killed."

"Sam-"

"No!" Sam shouted, shaking. He clung to her, his stomach churning, his grip like a vice as he kept his fingers pressed to her lips. He stood in silence for a moment, focusing on her through his tears. "Rachel," he whispered, his voice breaking, "I'll _never_ forgive myself for this. _Ever_. How could I? ... I've taken your life from you, because I couldn't live without you." He swallowed hard. "You've been asking me to recognize your free will in our time together, but all I have ever seen is you locked away in some horrible fate since the first moment I looked into your eyes." He cupped her cheek with his free hand, stroking her tears into her skin that his thumb caught. "I knew I should've walked away. That first day, I should've left Nebraska and never looked back. Because you were standing there, this goddamn beautiful angel, just waiting for me to fuck up your life, to strip away any good you had. But I ... I couldn't. I couldn't leave you. I knew all along you would suffer, but I still didn't let you go. How is that your choice?"

Sam caught Rachel as she swayed, steadying her. It only added to his self hatred and tears. "Sammy," Rachel whispered, "I don't have much power left to spare. Please …" Her tears fell freely. She was trying her hardest to fake strength and resolve when she was scared shitless. "Please just … Be with me. While I'm here."

Sam let go of her hand and drew her to his chest, his embrace fierce. He sobbed into her hair when he heard Rachel's muffled cries into his chest. "Please, God … stop this," he whispered as he searched the horizon. He shuddered as he wept. Neither Chuck nor the ocean replied.


	103. Chapter 102

A flash of dark hair across the way caught Sam's attention. His lips parted as he saw Robbie standing in the sand with a grin. "Robbie?" he breathed.

Rachel parted from Sam, surprised when she saw the boy running toward them. "Robbie," she shuddered as she embraced the boy, a fresh wave of tears falling as she picked him up.

"Mom," Robbie sighed, resting his cheek on her chest. He was quiet for a moment. "Mom, you don't have to go."

"I do, sweetie," Rachel whispered back.

"But I can use my powers!" Robbie exclaimed, looking into her eyes.

"Robbie, you're not strong enough."

"I can grow!"

"No, sweetie," Rachel said, pressing him close. "This is too dangerous."

"But … Uncle Cas said if you use your powers, then you'll die."

Rachel set Robbie down in the sand, squatting to his level. "No, baby," she said gently. "I won't die."

"But," Robbie murmured, playing with a piece of Rachel's hair, "you won't be you."

Her heart breaking, Rachel nodded. "Maybe."

"Then … who will you be?"

"I …" She glanced to Sam, then back to the boy. "I'm not sure, baby." She attempted to manage Robbie's wild mane, the gentle sea breeze twisting through it. "But what I do know is, no matter who I am, I'll _always_ be your mommy."

"You won't be," Robbie sniffled, his brow wrinkled. "Because you won't remember."

A new wave of tears overcame Rachel as she tried desperately to soothe him. "I know this is scary," she whispered, taking her son's hands. "I know that there are a lot of questions that don't have answers. But I need you to believe in your heart that my love will always be with you." She paused, swallowing. "Can you promise me something?" she asked. Robbie nodded. "Okay. I need you to promise me that you'll listen to Daddy. He's a smart man. He's the reason why you're so smart." She heard Sam choking back another round of sobs as he listened. "Sometimes, Daddy might say no to something. Or he might not allow you to do things. What I want you to promise me is that you will listen to him. No matter what. Because even if …" Rachel took a shuddered breath, trying to keep herself together. "... Even if it feels like he's trying to keep you locked up, all he wants is to protect you. He loves you more than anything in the entire universe."

"He loves you like that too," Robbie interjected, a slight bitterness to his tone. "But you're going away."

Rachel swiped away her tears. "I know, baby. But I have to. Because I have to keep people safe." She stroked Robbie's cheek. "Can you promise me you'll listen to Daddy?"

Robbie nodded solemnly. "I promise."

"Thank you, baby. Now, I need you to promise me one more thing."

"Okay."

"I need you to promise me that no matter how you feel, that you keep living your life. You keep playing and learning and exploring. You keep having fun, watching silly movies, eating ice cream … All the good things." She shivered as she ran her hand across his head, stroking him. "Because you have a beautiful life to live. One that is meant for amazing things."

Robbie shrugged. "But you'll be gone."

"Baby, no matter where I am, I will _never_ stop being your mommy. Never. Even if this body doesn't work the same, nothing changes that you're my boy. You're my beautiful boy, and nothing changes my love, or who I am to you. Now, can you promise me you'll do all those good things?"

"I promise." Robbie wrapped Rachel in a hug; it was painfully tight. "I'll take care of Dad," he whispered in her ear as she stood up and held him.

"Thank you, baby. But remember your promise. Live your life. Have fun. Laugh. Do that for me, okay?"

"Okay."

Sam was a mess by the time Rachel looked back up to him. He was so broken, so devastated that she feared he wouldn't recover. "That goes for you too," she said, searching his eyes. "Do the good things. Live." She paused, smiling sadly. "Love."

Sam violently shook his head. "There will _never_ be anyone but you," he whispered. " _Never_." His brow knitted as he saw Rachel sway a little. He took Robbie into his arms, drawing Rachel close. "Please, baby girl," he begged, "please … don't do this."

"I have to," she murmured back. She rested her head on Sam's chest as he held her close in one arm, his other balancing their son.

"I will find another—"

"Sammy," Rachel gently urged against him, "just … just hold me. Please. I don't have much longer."

Sam buried his face into Rachel's hair, freely sobbing into it. "I can't do this," he shuddered. "I can't … I can't let you go."

"I know," Rachel managed back, her tears soaking his shirt.

Sam bent down and kissed her, tears covering his face as he tasted her. She was life itself. His hands fluttered over her body, his mouth tasting her lips and jaw. He was desperate to keep every bit of her committed to memory, leaving nothing to chance.

Rachel pulled back, looking to Robbie. She pressed kisses on his forehead and cheeks. "I love you," she whispered to him, drawing him close for a hug. "So very much."

"Love you, Mama," he whispered back, sniffling.

She turned her focus to Sam. "Please tell everyone I love them. And Dean … and Cas …" She sucked in a shaky breath, unable to help her sorrow at the thought of not saying goodbye to them. "Please tell them I love them with all my heart. Tell Cas he's the best guardian angel ever. And tell Dean … Tell Dean …" She swiped away her tears. "Please tell Dean this is _not_ his fault."

With a slow blink, she produced a piece of jewelry in her right hand. "Take this," she urged him. Sam took the bracelet, examining it. "That's a sigal cuff. Put this around my wrist before I wake up." Rachel watched as Sam pocketed the cuff. "When I wake up, take me to the bunker. Ward the dungeon and put me in there. Then use the grace extractor to remove _all_ of my grace."

Sam's lips parted, shaking his head. "That will hurt you."

"You need to, Sam," Rachel ordered. "Every last bit needs to be extracted. I will be far too dangerous. It's too big a risk if I'm not me." She watched Sam run a hand over his mouth, unable to digest what she was asking. "Promise me," she urged.

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. She stood on her tiptoes, swaying as she tried to kiss him. He steadied her, his entire being turned to dust at seeing her fight. "I have to go," she whispered.

"Marry me," Sam begged in a whisper.

"Sam, I won't let you do this to yourself. You … You need to have a life and—"

"There will _never_ be anyone else for me. _Ever._ Please. Marry me." Sam fished out the tiny ring he kept in his pocket daily since the moment she took it off, taking her hand into his.

Rachel pulled it away. "Wait, then. Until I find you. When we can be together." She closed his palm around the ring, her hand shaking as she reached up and cradled his cheek. "Eligos tried to keep me quiet. He tucked me away into a corner, thinking I wouldn't fight. But you were the first thing I saw." She smiled sadly, sniffling. "And then he scrambled my mind. Everything was twisted. But even then, I found you. And you found me." She relished the feel of his skin under hers. "I'll find you, Sammy," she promised. "It may take time, but I will find you again."

Sam put the ring back with sadness, knowing she was right. He _would_ find her again. There was no other choice. "Whose are you?" he asked, tender and demanding, just as he was the night they first made love.

"Yours," Rachel said back, drinking in the familiar comfort.

"That's right, baby girl," he said, his voice cracking. "You're mine. All mine. Always and forever mine." He reached down and kissed her, consuming her, willing her to remain though he knew she wouldn't.

They parted. Rachel pressed one last kiss on Robbie's forehead, then on Sam's cheek. She smiled as she searched his hazel eyes, stroking his cheek. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

All at once, everything disappeared. Sam felt the pressure rip him away from both Rachel and Robbie. In the space of a second, he was seated in the blue cushioned chair next to Rachel in her hospital room. He gasped, sucking a deep breath in as he looked around. The beach was gone, and the body he so vividly felt was next to him, but not as it was a moment ago.

His stomach sank, bile racing up his throat as he felt an object in his right pocket. With a shaky hand, he withdrew the cuff she gave him, choking back tears. It wasn't a dream. It was her physically, just as much as it was her in front of him.

Slowly, he took Rachel's slender wrist and clicked the cuff into place. For a brief moment, it lit blue, then dissolved back into its gold hue. She was bound, her powers subdued. Sam swallowed back his vomit as he saw the monitors blink and beep steadily. She was fighting a war, and all he could do was wait to see if she came out of it as herself.

* * *

Robbie whooshed back into the bunker, surprising Dean, Mary, and Castiel, who all stood and rushed to him. Dean picked him up, examining him. "Are you alright?" he asked; he saw the way Robbie solemnly nodded. "What happened?" he asked gently.

"Mama said goodbye," Robbie sniffed.

The adults looked at each other, paling as they processed what he said. Each stunned and shocked, they remained silent for a long moment. Dean choked back his sick that crept up his throat. "Where is she, Robbie?" he asked softly.

Everyone waited with bated breath for his answer. Robbie sighed, his lips pressed together. "I don't know. I don't hear her anymore."


	104. Chapter 103

**Leave me some love! Thanks for your reads and reviews -**

 **they mean the world to me!**

* * *

Robbie's fists tightened at his sides. "This isn't how it was supposed to end!" he screamed, his pain unbearable to Dean.

"Robbie—" he began.

"I could save her! I could help! And she won't let me, because I'm a stupid kid!"

Dean knelt down to his level, taking the boy by the shoulders. "Your mom loves you, Robbie. She didn't want you to get hurt."

"But I won't!" Robbie shouted in Dean's face. "No one trusts me! No one thinks I can do things!" His eyes flared iridescent blue, his jaw set.

"Look, just—"

" _Stop it_!" Robbie blasted Dean backward; Dean's back crashed against the wall, his body slumping to the ground. "Stop lying! I _can_ _do things_!" the boy growled, so consumed by his pain that he didn't notice he hurt his uncle. "And I'm going to fight!"

"Okay, Robbie," Castiel whispered, gaining his attention. He glanced to Dean, seeing Mary tending to him, then knelt down to Robbie's level, taking his hand. He was surprised when he didn't get thrown across the room. He could see Mary's shocked face out of his peripheral. "I know how hard it is to see those you love hurting. And I know how much your mother means to you."

"I want her back!" Robbie screamed, his cheeks red as he yanked his hand away and tightened his fists by his sides. He started to slow down, his breath evening. Despite it, Robbie began to cry, seemingly defeated. Castiel prayed it meant the end of his potential destructiveness.

Dean pushed to his feet, moving slowly toward the sobbing boy. "I know you do," he said to Robbie tenderly. He picked him up into his arms, grimacing as the boy beat on his shoulders and back with his inhuman strength while hysterically screaming. Robbie still had one last burst of fight in him, and Dean's heart was immediately decimated by his pain.

"It's not fair! I want her back!" Robbie growled between heavy shudders of tears as he pounded against Dean. "I want my mom back!"

Dean's own tears quickly fell, nestling his fingers into Robbie's thick hair as he held him close. "I know, buddy," he whispered, pressing the boy to his chest. His stomach knotted as he heard his nephew sob. "I know you do. I want her back too. We all do."

Robbie began to slow down his fight, his crying still strong as he buried his face into Dean's neck. "I want Mama," he trembled against Dean's skin, making Dean's heart shatter into even more pieces than before. Dean moved away toward the library slowly as he rocked back and forth, first humming a tune before he gently sang the lyrics into Robbie's ear.

" _Be a simple, kind of man._

 _Be something you love and understand._

 _Be a simple kind of man._

 _Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can."_

"Mama sang that to me," Robbie whispered against him.

Dean nodded. "I know. I would hear her singing to you when you were in her tummy. She loves you so much, Robbie. Never forget that."

"Can you sing it again?" Robbie asked meekly, not daring to come out from his hiding spot against Dean's shoulder.

"Of course I can," Dean replied, pressing a kiss to Robbie's head. He felt how the boy loosened against him, familiar with the indicators of his spent power. He would soon sleep for quite a while, which the child desperately needed. Dean slowly walked toward the hall, gently singing under his breath.

" _Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself._

 _Follow your heart and nothing else._

 _And you can do this, oh baby, if you try._

 _All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied._

 _And be a simple kind of man._

 _Oh, be something you love and understand._

 _Baby be a simple kind of man._

 _Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can."  
_

* * *

"Cas," Sam said softly as he sat at Rachel's bedside at the hospital. He didn't flinch when the angel appeared, keeping his face buried in his palm as he tried to stop his tears.

Castiel hesitated with brokenness, seeing his suffering.

"How … How is she?" Sam asked, not looking up.

"Sam, Dean is ..." Castiel paused, remembering Robbie's emotional hysterics. "You might want to call him."

"I will when you tell me how she is."

Castiel drew in a breath as he looked at Rachel's body, holding his hands over her. His brow arched. "Interesting."

That caught Sam's attention. "What?" he asked, looking up at him.

"It appears that her grace is fully charged, but bits of her soul remains."

Sam's lips parted. "Does that means she's—"

"Sam," Castiel interrupted gently, "it doesn't mean her cognitive connection remains. What it means is, she is very much an almost archangel with a few stray pieces of her soul."

"But when her grace is gone, her soul will be reborn."

"It doesn't mean she will be the Rachel you knew." The angel looked solemnly down at Sam as he lowered his hands, seeing his pain. "She will wake soon. Her body is strong. We should take her back to the bunker. There, I can examine her mind to see what portions are missing."

"What am I going to tell her?" Sam asked in a pained whisper. "If she … isn't her."

"Whatever you do tell her, it should be cohesive with everyone."

Sam nodded, beginning to disconnect the IV line from Rachel's hand. "Then let's get her home."

* * *

With a bit of unseen coercion, Castiel managed to convince the hospital staff he was the overseeing doctor, signing off on Rachel's discharge before whisking her and Sam away from prying eyes. They landed in the maps room with a thud; Sam gripped Rachel tighter as he held her in his arms, cradling her to his chest.

The activity stopped around them, hunters murmuring and parting as Sam walked past them toward the dungeon. As much as he wanted to take her back to his room, he knew once Rachel woke, it was safest to have her there.

Once downstairs, Sam looked at the waiting bed, disgusted. He carefully laid Rachel down on it and tucked a blanket over her, glancing back to Castiel and Dean, who waited behind him. Though he wanted an answer to the potential nightmare he had to live, he was hoping to just be with her by himself. He wanted to cling to the beautiful past that had been stolen out from under them by no fault of their own.

Sam reluctantly moved away from the bed, Castiel taking his place. The angel rested two fingers on Rachel's forehead. "She will sleep deeply through this," he said to Sam, seeing his grimace. "She won't be in pain." Closing his eyes, Castiel focused his energy into Rachel's body, keeping the physical connection as he began to see images appear.

"What do you see?" Sam asked impatiently, his focus split between Castiel and Rachel.

"Shh," Castiel urged, his brow wrinkling. He watched the images, absorbing as much information as he could. He knew Sam was more than eager, and he wanted to give him a conclusive picture.

Time passed slowly, but Castiel finally broke the connection. Sam waited, his fingers flexing by his sides. "Well?" he asked, his pulse racing.

Castiel looked to Dean, then focused on Sam. "She … She remembers the truth—" he began softly.

Sam was stunned. "That's … That's amazing!" he interrupted.

Castiel held a hand up. "Sam." He drew in a deep breath. "She remembers the truth about the world, about the very basics of hunting." Scanning Sam's eyes, he exhaled. "But there is no connective tissue of life events after the death of someone named Alex. Her memories of you or her time here were burned out of her vessel with the majority of her soul." Castiel hesitated. "She might wake as someone unlike who you know."

"But if we take her grace out," Dean started, "then her soul will be reborn."

" _A_ soul, not necessarily parallel to her original one," Castiel corrected softly.

Stomach twisting, Sam tried to process what he heard. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving his fingers tangled in the roots as he stared down at Rachel. "How much of Alex does she remember?" he asked.

"The locations are hazy, but she knows him well, most recently as a werewolf who made some kills. It appears they were in a romantic relationship."

Dean grimaced. "Shit timing, Cas," he muttered.

For a long time, Sam stared down at Rachel's body, not moving from his stance as he gripped his hair like a lifeline. His prolonged silence killed Dean; he shifted his weight after a few long moments, stepping to his brother. "Sam—"

"We tell her we killed Alex on a hunt here in Kansas," Sam concluded, his mind spinning as his hand fell to his side. "She was unconscious from the fight, so we took her here to keep her safe."

Dean watched him carefully. "And then what?"

Sam's nostrils flared as he kept his focus on Rachel. "Then we give her the option to stay … or to leave."

Lips parting, Dean scoffed. "You can't let her go!"

"There's nothing left," Sam snarled, turning to face his brother. "I can't pretend like she'll be restored, like last time. She _had_ her soul then. And whatever is left now …" He swallowed hard. "Whatever is left now will only be a small part of who she will become." Tears dripped down his cheeks. "She's not mine anymore, Dean," he whispered. "I can't make her stay. It's up to her."

No one spoke; Sam let more silent tears fall for a long moment. "Take her grace before she wakes up," Sam instructed, keeping his eyes on Rachel. "Then … Let me know when she's awake. I'll instruct the others on what to do." Sam glanced between Castiel and his brother, giving them a stiff nod and wiping his eyes with a rough hand as he turned and left the room.

Dean winced as the door leading upstairs was shut harder than necessary. "Cas," he said, "isn't there anything we can do? Retrieve her soul? Chuck said they don't get destroyed. So it's got to be somewhere."

"It's elsewhere, Dean. In a plane of existence inaccessible to ninety-nine percent of angels currently alive, including myself. Finding it would be excruciatingly hard," Castiel replied, sighing. "The only one equipped to do so would be Robbie."

"What if he did find it?" Dean asked eagerly.

"Dean—"

"Hear me out, Cas. What if Robbie found it? Could he restore it?"

Castiel paused. "Yes. But … He would need to be stronger than he is. You saw how he exhausted himself from his brief contact there."

"He would need to grow," Dean murmured.

"And I don't think Sam is willing to do that, or to let his son go alone to a plane of existence that I cannot access. Dean, it's an entire world, essentially. It would be like Robbie navigating the Apocalypse World by himself."

Dean looked back to Rachel. Would Sam sacrifice that much for her? Would she want him to? "I'll talk to Sam," he decided.

"I highly doubt Sam would approve a plan like this. If Jack was able to accompany him at full power, _maybe._ And that's a very strong maybe."

"We've got to try."

"Sam has the chance to retain his son despite his tremendous loss."

"The boy needs his mother," Dean snapped, surprising Castiel. "Look, I know what it was like growing up without a mother. So does Sam. He doesn't want that for Robbie. He _can't want_ that."

"He could lose them both," Castiel countered. "Sam is logical. He won't take the risk."

"How big a risk are we talking? If Robbie was near fully grown?"

Castiel shook his head. "Inhabiting other planes takes a great deal of power and mental strength. If Robbie grows …" He sighed, seeing Dean's look. "There is a strong chance he could do it."

Dean nodded. "Take out her grace and store it away. Just in case. I'll go talk to Sam."

As he neared the dungeon exit, Castiel's voice halted him. "Dean, do you really want your nephew to do this?" Castiel asked behind him.

Turning back to look at the angel, Dean shook his head. "No," he admitted. "But he wants his mother back. And that's what I want for him too."

* * *

Sam looked to the other hunters, who gathered in the library on his call. His stomach felt more than just sick—it was twisted so tight that he was sure it would kill him. "What I'm about to say is extremely important," he began, almost immediately losing his nerve through the deafening silence of the room. He ran a hand over his mouth. "Rachel isn't fully Rachel anymore." He saw how the others reacted, their surprise more than evident. "Once Cas is finished removing her grace, she will be fully human again. Except, most of her soul will be replaced. Only part of who she was remains." Gritting his teeth, he pushed through. "She remembers nothing of this bunker, us … of me. And nothing will be said about it."

"Chief," Rick said, stepping forward. Concerned lined his face. "You want us to lie to her?"

"That's what I said," Sam replied, lifting his chin a little. "I don't want her burdened with trying to fit into an already carved out life." He flicked his eyes to the others, seeing their clear hesitation. "We move forward, and if she wants to stay …" Sam caught his mother's concerned look. "Then she can. And if she doesn't … then that's her choice."

Sam stood, feeling suffocated. It was then that he caught Ketch's focused eyes and flicker of a smile from the rear of the group. Immediately, his pulse elevated, his rage flaring. It didn't matter if Rachel didn't remember him or their relationship—there was no way that sonofabitch was going to take her. He'd kill him if he even dared to go near her. His hands tightened into fists at just the thought. "She came here because she was injured during a hunt Dean and I were on," he continued stiffly, glaring at Ketch. "I killed Alex, a werewolf, before he could hurt a victim. That's the story you tell. And as far as Robbie …" He drew in a sharp breath, looking to the others. "He's my son. And his mother is gone. That's all you need to say. And if anyone has an issue with this, then you're free to leave. I won't hold it against you." He waited, seeing no one move. "Alright." Giving them a nod, he turned and left, retreating to the kitchen.

As soon as he could, Sam snagged a bottle of bourbon and a glass, not waiting to sit as he poured out a healthy portion. His grip tightening on the bottle, he knocked back the bourbon as he sat at the table. He let the liquor burn down his throat, hoping it would dull the festering aches and rage in his head and heart.

Dean walked in as Sam poured a second portion. He rolled his stiff muscles, the deep ache from Robbie's fit still present in his body. Dean knew what he would propose to Sam wouldn't likely go said without a fight. But he also could see how much pain Sam was in. And he certainly knew how much pain Robbie was in. "Can I talk to you?" he asked softly, taking a seat across from Sam.

Sam kept his focus on his glass as he sipped from it, trying to avoid getting messy drunk. After all, he still had to introduce himself to the woman he loved as if he had never met her, or tasted her kiss, or held her in his arms and watched her sleep. And he had to tell her he killed her boyfriend, even though he didn't. And he also had to make sure that slimy bastard Ketch was never anywhere near her. "Sure."

Drawing in a breath, Dean shifted in his seat. "Chuck said souls can't be destroyed," he began softly. "Sam, the rest of Rachel's soul is out there."

Sam eyed him, then knocked back the remainder of his drink, not giving a fuck. "Don't, Dean," he warned in a pained, hoarse tone.

"It's out there," Dean continued, seeing how Sam was willing to hear him out despite his words. "And if we can get it back, we can get our Rachel back."

Sam poured another drink. "It's on another plane of existence," he growled. "Another fucking _plane of existence_. I can't just beam myself there. Hell, Cas can't either. So," he said, staring his brother down as he clutched his drink, "how do you propose we get there?"

His brother's bitter anger made Dean on edge. Still, he summoned up courage. "Robbie can get there," he replied.

The laugh Sam gave sent chills up Dean's spine. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Sam slammed his empty glass down.

"Hear me out," Dean urged, holding a hand up. "That boy is broken. He wants nothing more than to get Rachel back. Just like you. Sam … Robbie doesn't have to be raised like we were. He's strong."

"He's a _boy_ ," Sam snapped.

"He's half demon and half angel," Dean argued back. "All he wants is his family back together."

Sam shifted in his seat, running his tongue behind his teeth. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice progressively building as he spoke. "I just lost my fiancée, the mother of my son. And you want me to send my _child—alone—_ to another plane of existence to _possibly_ find Rachel's soul. Which, by the way, might not _even be there._ Oh, and we don't even know what else exists in that plane, so who the hell knows what he'd be up against. Also, you said he exhausted himself just from the brief time he was there!"

Dean swallowed. "Robbie could grow."

Sam pushed to his feet. "Fuck this," he growled.

"Face it, Sam," Dean shot back, halting him. "At some point, everyone needs to accept him for who he is. A _powerful supernatural_ being with an enormous heart. For his entire life, we have been denying who he is to give him our version of happiness. But _his_ version of happiness is his _family_." Dean paused. "Sam, if we keep stuffing him in a box, he'll make the wrong choice because he's got no others. Whether you approve or not, there's probably literally no one on earth that can stop him. Not even you."

Sam's nostrils flared as he stood silently, studying the tabletop as he braced himself against it. Dean was right. Robbie would do anything for his mother. And if he didn't help and guide him, what he might do on his own could be dangerous. Sam shut his eyes, hating what Dean proposed with every fiber of his being. But he knew he was right. And whether Rachel would be angry or not once she was restored wasn't an option anymore. He had to keep Robbie safe, and if that meant sending him after Rachel's soul, then he had to do it.

"How the hell can I do this, Dean?" Sam asked, his tone far softer. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the table. "How can I let him go and do this?"

Dean stood, sighing. "It won't be easy. But I don't see any other way of keeping Robbie safe."

Sam scoffed. "By sending him into the unknown alone." Shaking his head, Sam sniffed. "No. He's not going by himself. I'll go too."

"Sammy," Dean said hesitantly, "you've got to be here with Rachel."

"Why?" Sam countered. "It's not like we …" Shutting his eyes, he gathered his words. "Dean, I can't let Robbie do this alone. And the only one left who can do it is me."

Dean held up a hand, his wheels spinning for a moment. "Not true," he said with realization. "I can go."

"What?!"

"I'm Michael's perfect vessel, remember? If you could be there, then so can I."

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "Dean—"

"Listen," Dean interrupted, "you don't want Robbie alone, fine. Send me with him. You know I'll keep him safe."

"So, just send two of the most important people in my life to another plane on a maybe?"

"Yep." Before Sam could object, Dean took hold of his shoulder. "Sammy, it's done," he said softly. "I know what Rachel said before she …" He didn't realize his grip tightened as he bit back the tears. "That girl sacrificed herself because of me. This is the _least_ I can do for her. She's my sister." He patted Sam's shoulder. "So, this is what we're doing. And pretty soon, you're gonna have your girl back. Alright?"

It took Sam several long moments before he finally gave his small nod of approval. "Atta boy," Dean said softly with a weak smile, trying to ease Sam's mind. He knew that would be relatively impossible, given everything that was happening, but he had to try.

"Sam?" Mary asked softly from the kitchen archway. He turned to her, seeing the concern in her eyes. "Cas said … Cas said he's done and she's nearly awake."

Dean patted him on the back, urging Sam forward. "Temporary," he reminded him softly. "Your girl is still in there. Don't forget that."

Sam nodded, trying to keep from puking. It was all too much. But he had no choice. He needed to encourage Rachel to stay as much as he could, praying there was some type of connection between them despite her reset. Not to mention he needed to keep Ketch away from her at all times. And because he needed Rachel's soul to protect his son from going rogue, he had to let the boy enter an inaccessible world they knew nothing about on only a possibility. Dean's optimism was worthless.

 _Clusterfuck,_ Sam growled to himself.


	105. Chapter 104

Sam slowly cracked open the door to the spare room Rachel occupied when she first came to the bunker. Her duffel bag had been repacked and placed next to the bed, as if her clothes had never occupied space in Sam's bureau. The facade he created made him ill. It felt like a hurtful lie, despite knowing it was there to protect her. Would she see through it? Would the others manage to convince her of it all?

More importantly, would she hate him for taking the blame for Alex? When Rachel was herself, she seemed to accept his fate, though it undoubtedly hurt. Sam didn't want her to resent him, but he also knew that if he was asking everyone to lie, the biggest one had to come from him. It wasn't fair otherwise.

Castiel looked up toward the doorway as Sam hesitantly entered. "She's free of all grace," he informed him. "She also shouldn't have any residual pain from the extraction. Though, her vessel will likely be affected for a bit."

"How?"

"Dizziness is usually the after effect. Also, her grace is locked in the archive vault."

Sam nodded, not fully focused on what Castiel was saying. Rather, he watched Rachel sleep, knowing it would be the last time he'd get to for a while. "Thanks, Cas," he murmured, coming to stand next to her bedside. He felt Castiel's silent stare, catching it in his peripheral. "I'd, uh, like to be alone with her when she wakes," he said, offering Castiel a small smile.

"Of course," Castiel replied. With a flap of his wings, he was gone.

Sighing heavily, Sam sat in the armchair next to the bed, his focus still on Rachel. She looked peaceful, but he knew her peace would soon be broken.

A few minutes passed when Rachel stirred the tiniest bit in bed. Sam's heart stopped as she roused awake. He waited, holding back his tears as he watched. Rachel slowly blinked her eyes open, evidently hazy as she tried to gather her bearings. Sam was too sick to say anything, too much in denial of his new truth.

She met his eyes and immediately backed away from him, clearly scared. Sam's stomach lurched. His Rachel was gone. It had hurt when Lucifer erased her before Robbie was born, but it hurt even more now, knowing she lost herself to protect him. "Easy," Sam said softly, holding up a hand. It seemed to stop her momentarily. "It's alright."

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, stiff as she sat on the far edge of the bed.

Sam's heart broke seeing her fear. "My name is Sam Winchester. I'm a hunter." He drew in a deep breath. Seeing her this way was going to be a lot harder than he thought. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

Rachel swallowed, inching away. Sam could tell she was still woozy from Castiel's deep extraction and forced sleep. "Isn't that what all murderers say?"

Sam laughed softly. "I guess you're right. But I'm not a murderer."

"They say that, too."

With a small smile, Sam nodded. "I promise, you're safe here." He drew in a breath. "You were knocked out when we found you," he continued softly. "You were with someone. A werewolf."

Rachel hesitated, still tense and mostly pressed away from him. "Yes," she murmured.

"My brother, Dean, and I … we were tracking his pack."

Swallowing hard, Rachel took a quick look around herself. "Where's Alex?"

"Is Alex the werewolf?"

"Yes. Where is he?"

Sam ran a hand over his mouth. His stomach knotted at the lie. "Alex is gone," he replied quietly, seeing her shock. "We heard a shot and came into the cabin. You were unconscious, gun in hand, and the wolf …" He shut his eyes for a moment. "... Alex ... was going to bite you. I had to take him down."

"You killed him?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"I'm so sorry," Sam said, pained at her expression. "He wasn't … He wasn't human anymore. I didn't have a choice."

Rachel looked down at the blanket over her lap, her bottom lip quivering. "I tried," she whispered. A small tear fell down her cheek. "I tried to help him. But I couldn't. Guess I couldn't kill him either." She examined his eyes; hers were glassy. "But I tried. I … just …"

"You don't need to explain anything," Sam insisted gently. "None of this is your fault."

Silence hung between them. Sam wanted to take her into his arms and soothe her in the worst way. "I'm Rachel," she replied after a long moment. "Rachel Lentz."

Sam smiled, remembering the real first time he met her, when she lied about her identity to investigate a case. "I'm glad you're okay, Rachel."

She quickly looked away; Sam swore he saw a hint of rosiness to her cheeks as he said her name. "So … where am I now?"

"In our bunker. It's a safe haven for hunters. We didn't want to leave you at the scene."

Clawing at the blanket on her lap, Rachel drew in a deep breath. "Thank you," she managed, hesitantly meeting Sam's eyes. "For … helping me." She then looked away, back to the blanket. "I'm … I'm sorry about … not being able to ..."

Sam couldn't help but notice the way her dark lashes kissed her cheeks. "Stop apologizing. It's alright."

Rachel's focus darted upward to him. "What did you say?" she asked in a whispered tone.

His brow wrinkled. What did he say? Was it something that triggered a memory? It seemed like it did for her. "I said it's alright," he repeated gently, relieved when he saw her move inward on the mattress. She was clearly a bit more comfortable, but still resembled a startled deer.

Rachel glanced to her duffel bag. She turned with a sudden thought. "My car," she said, looking to Sam.

"It, uh … It wouldn't start. We had to leave it. But we got everything out of it." Sam saw her pained look. "We have vehicles you can use," he added.

"Took forever in darts winnings to buy that piece of shit," Rachel sighed, shutting her eyes. "Homeless _and_ car-less. Perfect."

"Whatever we have here is yours, if you need it," Sam assured gently.

His heart stopped at the way she looked at him. She visibly thickened her skin, her defenses readied. For a moment, she had been vulnerable. But it wasn't like Rachel to remain that way. She was closing herself off, just as she originally had almost a year ago. "Thanks. But I won't be staying. I don't want to be anyone's charity case." Offering a semi polite smile, she stood with a sway, which made Sam immediately move around the bed to her, steadying her.

"Easy," he murmured, his large hands firm over her biceps as he held her. His pulse fluttered as she looked up at him. "There's nothing wrong with needing help. You need to rest. And probably eat." Rachel didn't fight his touch, which surprised Sam. Instead, she instinctively gripped his forearms as she swayed again. "I've got you," Sam assured, holding her steady. "Come on. Let's get you back in bed."

"I'm okay," Rachel tried, failing as her eyes felt heavy.

"You're not, and it's okay. You don't need to prove anything to me."

She looked up at him with a questioning look. She first readied to speak, but then hesitated. Her eyes drooped closed and she loosened her brace, falling against his chest. Sam's breath hitched, watching her struggle to pull away and steady herself. "Why do I …" She glared up at him. "Did you drug me?!" she asked incredulously.

"No!" Sam assured, his brow wrinkled. "You must've hit your head pretty hard," he reasoned gently, trying to ease her embarrassment.

"I've never felt this drained," she admitted.

"It's okay. You just need to rest. Eating is probably best too. When was the last time you ate?"

Rachel's fingers flexed over Sam's tanned forearms. Her touch was enough to drive him insane, craving more with each tiny stroke. "I … I think a couple days ago."

Sam nodded. "I'm going to get you something to eat. But you've got to lie down."

"Why … Why are you doing this?"

Her skepticism made him sad. This was the version of Rachel he hadn't seen in a long time—the roughened girl who depended only on herself for over a decade. The one who didn't know what real love was. The one who doubted her worth, who settled, who was so broken by life. He had spent months putting in repairs to her, only to have it all erased. Still, this was a second chance of sorts. There was a lot he got wrong in their relationship. Now was his time to fix it. "Because I care," he replied genuinely, seeing the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

"I'm sure you've got better things to do," Rachel reasoned, trying to stand on her own.

"You matter," Sam insisted, smiling softly as she met his eyes. "You have to believe that."

Rachel was silent as she looked up at him. "Do I …?" She stopped, the question fading on her lips. Still, he could see the flicker of curiosity there, and he wanted to fan the flame, hopeful it would spark his Rachel back to life somehow.

Before Sam could say anything, a knock resounded on the door. He kept hold of Rachel as he turned toward it as it opened, seeing Mary followed by Ketch, who carried a tray of soup, a sandwich, and a glass of water. Sam's eyes widened and he glared at Ketch, enraged. His grip unconsciously tightened around Rachel, holding her despite her jump of fear from their entrance.

"Hi," Mary said gently as Ketch set tray down on the bureau next to the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Mary, Sam and Dean's mother."

"Rachel," Rachel said softly as Sam reluctantly let her go, standing beside her.

"Nice to meet you," Mary said, sounding both nervous and forced. "I thought you might be hungry."

Rachel nodded, still unsure, but seeming to accept the help. "I am, a little."

"Well, then let's get some soup in you."

As Mary guided Rachel to sit back down and helped with her tray, Sam took Ketch's arm with a rough grab he concealed from Rachel and walked him out of the room. He led him down the hall a bit, seething as he turned Ketch around, forcing his back against the wall. "I swear to God," Sam growled gripping his shirt, "I'm going to kill you right here, right now."

"I was merely helping your mother," Ketch objected, though he didn't seem apologetic.

"Bullshit," Sam snapped, yanking him closer. "You're looking for an in."

"Am I?"

"You've wanted her since the first day you met her." Sam's fist tightened. "But it'll be a cold day in hell before I let you near her."

"Isn't she free to do as she likes? You said so yourself that you didn't want to force her into an existent life," Ketch smirked.

If Rachel wasn't only a few feet away, Sam would've strangled Ketch. "I mean it," he warned, shoving him against the concrete with no mercy. "You so much as _look at her_ , and I will tear you apart, limb by limb."

"As I said," Ketch repeated, eyes narrowed, "I was merely helping your mother."

"You're only helping yourself," Sam spat.

"See it how you'd like."

"Stay the fuck away from my fiancée!"

Ketch's mouth turned up at the corner. "She's not _your fiancée_ anymore, mate."

Just as Sam was ready to punch him, Dean grabbed his hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, feeling Sam shake under his grip. "Easy." He looked to Ketch. "You. Get lost. _Now_."

Sam thrust Ketch away from himself, Dean letting go of his fist as he lowered it. Ketch smoothed out his shirt, seeming unfazed by the altercation. "Good luck," he smirked, walking away.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm as Sam began to charge after him. "Hey," he said, holding him. "Easy. Don't go psycho on his ass and scare Rachel off."

"If that fucker thinks he's going to try to take her—"

"We won't let that happen."

"You'll be gone," Sam snapped.

"Four days, Sam," Dean reminded him, grounding him. "Then his ass goes back to England. You gotta focus on building things with Rachel, making her feel safe here. Not him."

Sam drew in a few deep breaths to calm himself, shutting his eyes as Dean let go of him. "He's done here," Sam said coldly, looking at Dean. "I mean it, Dean. I don't give a shit if he has Jesus Christ himself on a white fucking horse."

"I'm with you," Dean agreed. "But right now, you need to get in there and charm the shit out of Rach. You know how she doesn't like to feel like a charity case."

"Yeah, she already told me as much," Sam sighed. "Dean, what if … What if she leaves? Then what?"

"You've got to give her a reason to stay. Tell her to give it a couple days. Then she can decide."

"It'll take longer than a couple days to find her soul."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But it only took her a couple days to fall for your giant ass, so let's hope history repeats itself."

Sam shut his eyes. "This is hard," he admitted. "Seeing her not know me again … How much more do we have to go through?"

"Hopefully not much more," Dean replied gently. "Come on. Get in there and be the guy who saved her life."

"By killing her 'boyfriend,'" Sam grumbled.

Dean nudged his arm with his own. "You're her boyfriend, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam murmured with a small smile.

"I'm going with Mom and Bobby on a supply run," Dean informed. "Robbie will probably be asleep until I get back. He was erasing wardings while Rach was with you and Cas."

With a sigh, Sam shook his head. "I can't … I can't send him—"

"Shut it," Dean interrupted with a pointed finger. "It's been decided. It's a milk run for the kid. You know that."

"No, I _don't_ know that!"

"Breathe, Sammy. Your boy is the most powerful being on the planet. Literally. Keep his mother close. That's your job."

As Dean walked away, Sam called out to him. "Get some bacon."

The request naturally made Dean surprised. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "New soul or not, I know my girl," he said with a smile. "If anything will get her to stay, it'll be bacon." He didn't wait for Dean to reply as he headed back to the spare bedroom. He knocked gently, waiting for a response.

"Come in," he heard his mother say.

Sam peeked in, seeing Rachel finishing her soup. He smiled, nodding to his mother. Mary came to him; Sam kept his voice soft. "Under no circumstances is Ketch allowed near her," he instructed, a grit to his tone.

Mary's brow wrinkled. "Sam, he wouldn't—"

"Think about what you're going to say," Sam interrupted. "Can you honestly tell me he wouldn't take advantage of this?" Mary was silent. "He doesn't want to 'help.' He wants to take my future—" Sam stopped abruptly, seeing Rachel approaching with the tray in hand over Mary's shoulder, closer than she had been. "Thanks, Mom," he smiled, looking up at Rachel. "Want more?"

"I'm alright, thanks," Rachel replied as Mary turned to her.

"Here," Mary said, taking the tray.

Rachel shook her head. "I can—"

"It's fine, I've got it." Mary gave her a motherly look that wasn't to be questioned, then she looked up to Sam. "Sam, do you want to show Rachel around?" She offered her son the same expectant look.

It was more than awkward being put on the spot. "Uh, sure," Sam said, glancing to Rachel. "If you're up for it."

Mary left quietly, Sam wetting his throat as he looked down at Rachel. She looked better, not as pale, and certainly stronger. She was clearly nervous, though. "I, actually, uh …" Rachel hesitated. "I think I'm going to get changed and call a car."

Sam's lips parted. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ "Rachel—"

"Look, I really appreciate everything you've done, but I can't stay here. I need to … uh … get back home."

"You mean a motel?" he asked knowingly.

Rachel went to object, but realized she was stuck. "… I can't contribute anything. I'm not even a hunter."

"So we can teach you," Sam countered, taking a tiny step closer.

Rachel's mouth opened. "I … I wouldn't even know where to start. I doubt I'd … I doubt I'd be good at it."

"You researched about Alex, right? You're smart. You'd be great." He saw her try to think of another objection. "Just … take a couple days to rest and recoup, and consider it. We have the space. It's not the Hyatt, but it's free." He smirked when he saw her smile. "And I'd feel better knowing you're here," he added in a softer tone. "The pack is still out there. And I don't know if they're vengeful."

Rachel drew in a breath. Sam was dying for her response, wanting to brush the loose hair near her cheek behind her ear. "Okay," Rachel finally said, offering him a small but genuine smile.

Sam smiled widely back. "Anything you need, just ask, okay?"

"I could use a shower?" Rachel asked.

Imagining her lithe body wet and naked was enough to immediately make Sam stir against his jeans. He shifted, nipping at his lip as he tried to remove the image from his mind's eye. "It's right down the hall. There's a closet with towels and …" He shook his head. "I'll show you." Sam held out his hand, only realizing he did it when he saw Rachel's eyes widen a little. He laughed awkwardly, snatching it back to himself. "It's, uh, this way."

After Rachel gathered a change of clothes, Sam led her down the hall, gesturing to the showers and the closet. "Everything's in here. I'll, uh, be in the library. It's down that way and to the left."

"Thanks," Rachel replied, watching as Sam reluctantly left. She swallowed hard, unable to help but notice his incredible physique. There was an obvious gentleness and kindness about Sam, but there was also something so familiar about him. His touch lit a spark deep within her that seemed both undeniably fresh and well known, all at once. Her world had burst in a moment's notice, but when he held her, she felt comforted. It was more than comforting—it was magnetic.

True, she had been seeing Alex, but Alex hadn't been the man she once knew for over three of their five months together. Despite the struggle and fighting, she didn't feel like she could leave him. There was an obligation to their relationship because of his werewolf shift, one that taught Rachel that love could be violent. But it was for good reason … wasn't it?

She felt horrible for it, but she couldn't deny the way Sam made her feel with just a single touch. Safe. Protected. Desired. If a touch on her biceps made her weak in the knees, what would it feel like to be wrapped in his arms, pressed against his broad chest? _Enough,_ she warned herself. _Out of your league._ Besides, he was just being nice. All she was was a broken girl with nowhere to go. A guy like him would go for a leggy blonde with more to offer. _Not that I blame him._

Taking up two towels and some shampoo and conditioner, she slipped inside the bathroom. She set it all down on the counter, looking at herself in the mirror. Running her hands over her face, she examined her eyes, her brows slowly wrinkling. She blinked a few times, confused as she didn't feel the usual dryness of her contact lenses. Carefully, she touched her index finger to her eye. Her lips parted when she jabbed her eyeball unexpectedly. "Ow!" Her eye began to water. Rachel rubbed it again, panicked as she didn't feel the lenses shift.

Heart racing, Rachel stared at her reflection in the mirror. Without her glasses or her contact lenses, she didn't have 20/20 vision. Yet, here she was, seeing without aide. "How in the world …" Rachel looked to the bathroom door, Sam coming to mind. Did he have something to do with this? How could he? But how could she see otherwise? _What the hell is going on?!_


	106. Chapter 105

The questions wouldn't leave Rachel's mind as she showered. It didn't make any sense. It was more than strange. But so was the circumstance she was currently in. She just lost her boyfriend, and was feeling an odd draw to the man who killed him, who happened to be handsome, sweet, and right down the hall. And he also might be some kind of supernatural healer. _Uh, no. That's insane._

 _Winchester._ The surname sounded familiar, one she could've heard of during her research. She did once meet with a hunter named Chris to ask for advice on Alex. Was Chris the one who told her about the Winchesters? She remembered there being someone she was warned to stay away from … But who? Everything seemed hazy from her recent past, as if someone had messed with her memories just enough to make her second guess herself. Was it an effect of her unconsciousness?

Rachel blotted her hair with a towel, baffled by her clear reflection. _Maybe something happened during Alex's attack._ But what? How could a werewolf attacking her cause her to regain her eyesight?

Despite not knowing Sam, Rachel's stomach turned at the idea of him not being there while she ventured the bunker. After braiding her damp hair, she crossed from the bathroom back to the room they set her up in. It lacked any kind of charm—concrete seemed to be the main feature of most of the bunker. Was it an old building? An old warehouse?

Rachel dug through her bag, producing her knife that she tucked into her pocket. It gave her a sense of comfort despite Sam's assurances. She searched through every compartment, but couldn't find her P-32. Did Sam keep it?

Drawing in a breath of courage, Rachel left her room, remembering Sam's directions to the library. She took in the blank hallway walls, not expecting the handsome cherry furniture or the ornate bookshelves once she entered the library. There was a classic charm to it, a warmth that seemed to be lacking in the other spaces she saw.

A laptop was abandoned on the first dark table, a satellite imaging map on the screen. Rachel studied the picture. It seemed to be tracking four different views, coordinates displayed on the upper right-hand corner. She watched them for a long moment, trying to see the value of what was being tracked, but failing to come up with any.

"Packs and nests."

Rachel looked up, seeing Sam entering with a steaming mug in hand. "It tracks known locations of werewolf packs and vamp nests for any kind of shift," he explained as he moved closer, stopping in front of her. "That, along with the 'hotline' helps us stay on top of things."

"It's amazing," she murmured. "Are you using your own software?"

Sam shook his head. "Hacked into the government's real time system and rerouted four of their dead satellites."

"Are you using a VPN?"

"Yeah, NetGhost."

Rachel shook her head. She sat down at the laptop, minimizing the satellite window and furiously typing into a private browsing window. "NetGhost is okay, but there are better options."

Sam sipped his coffee, unable to help but smile as he recalled the time Rachel stole his computer from his lap while they were in Nebraska in a motel. He watched her work, and the way she wet her lips and nibbled at the bottom one in concentration. Sam barely swallowed back his groan. The woman he loved was focused on getting him better tech, and it was unbelievably sexy. Combined with the fresh lavender scent of her damp hair, Sam found himself more than aroused in a short amount of time, trying to discreetly adjust as Rachel finished up.

"Okay," she said with a deep breath, "I've got you on Viper. It's so much better than NetGhost. You might want to adjust the settings, but it should provide better coverage." Rachel looked up at Sam, seeing his cheeks were flushed. He looked uncomfortable. Her lips parted. "Oh God," she said, standing quickly and backing away. "I'm … I'm sorry. I didn't mean … I didn't mean to mess up what … what you had set up."

Sam was relieved she seemed to miss the real reason for his tense expression, but worried about her misunderstanding. "No, no, no," he urged, setting the coffee mug down and stepping to her. "That's not …" He swallowed hard, trying to clear his head. All he could imagine was taking her right there on the desk, ripping her clothes off and sinking his lips onto the spot on her neck that made her gasp. "I'm not mad, not at all. That's amazing," he said with a smile, hoping his arousal wasn't noticeable. "Thank you."

She still wasn't convinced. "I should've asked—"

"Rachel," Sam assured as he bridged the gap and took her hands. His pulse sped back up as he felt her warm, soft skin under his. "It's okay. Really. I couldn't find a way into Viper. So, thank you."

Rachel looked into his eyes, wetting her throat. His eyes seemed darker than before, and more than focused on her as his tongue ran over his lips. He drew her closer, leaving little space between them. He looked like he wanted to … _No. There's no way._ Was she reading him wrong? _I have to be._ "As long as you're sure," she said with a clear lack of confidence.

"I'm more than sure," he replied in a husky tone that sent a shiver up her spine. He brought her hands to himself, making her lean toward him. "Thank you. You're incredible."

"Incredible is a bit much," she blushed, her pulse skyrocketing.

"Actually, it's not nearly enough," he countered, his voice silky.

Rachel's lips parted, her heart racing. Sam was looking at her intently, and it made her entire body tingle. How did she have such undeniable chemistry with this man she just met? His thumbs ran over the back of her hands; they were calloused but tender. For a moment, she contemplated moving even closer. Not that there was much space left between them. Sam had made sure of that. And she was nearly certain his head was dipping down toward hers ...

"There you are," a male voice said behind them.

Sam let go of Rachel's hands, whirling around to find Rick. "Uh, Chief," Rick continued, "we got a tip in on the line about something coming in northeast of here." Rick looked to Rachel for a minute, then back to Sam. "They won't give me the location or any specifics. They want to talk to you."

"They're on the line now?" Sam asked.

"Yup. I tried, but they'll only talk to you."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked back to Rachel, wishing he could have tasted her mouth a moment earlier. "I'll be right back," he said softly. "Feel free to upgrade anything you'd like," he added with a smile.

Rachel managed a smile back and nodded, watching Sam leave. _What the hell just happened?_ Her heart was still racing, the electricity they shared coursing through her veins.

The library was silent, Rachel unable to move for a long moment. The other hunters Sam mentioned were nowhere to be found, though from how Rick had popped up, they had to be somewhere. The bunker must have been enormous. She began to look around, trying to distract herself from the lingering, undeniable chemistry she shared with a perfect stranger. _A drop-dead gorgeous perfect stranger. One who happens to have saved my life. And was about to kiss me. I think._

Thinking about Sam's chivalry and mouth wasn't helping; she began examining the books that lined the shelves, running her fingers over the spines and reading the titles. There were boundless subjects, anything and everything one could want to learn about the supernatural. It was an incredible collection.

Her wandering took her to the maps room. Her brow wrinkled as she took it in. It was like nothing she had ever seen. Panels lined the back wall, a switchboard adjacent to it. The large maps table in the center seemed to glow with color, the wheeled chairs around it neatly tucked in. Metal railings divided the space into two levels, each leading off to more rooms.

"Quite an unusual place, isn't it?"

Rachel turned to the voice, not expecting the British timbre to it. Ketch smiled, sipping from a cup as he stepped down toward her. "It is all rather … odd," she admitted.

Ketch nodded, stopping in front of her. "It's an old building. From the nineteen fifties or so. It was utilized as a bunker for the Men Of Letters."

"The 'Men Of Letters?'"

"A supernatural intelligence organization." Ketch saw how Rachel's eyes widened. "Where are my manners?" he chided himself. He set down his tea and extended his hand. "Arthur Ketch."

Rachel took it; the chemistry between them felt strange. Conflicting. Confusing. "Rachel Lentz." She paused with remembrance. "You brought me soup earlier."

Ketch laughed, still holding her hand. "I did." He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss on it. "A pleasure, Rachel."

Bringing her hand back to herself, Rachel tugged nervously at the hem of her white knit top. "Thank you for that," she said, examining his dark eyes.

"It's no trouble at all." He picked up his tea. "So, you're a hunter?"

"No," Rachel said with embarrassment, "I … uh, I'm not really anything."

Ketch pursed his lips. "Surely you _are_ something," he corrected. "You seem like a smart woman."

"Just … got too close to a werewolf."

"Ah." Ketch looked her over. "Are you passing through, then?"

Rachel thought about Sam, how he seemed to encourage her to stay. "I don't know."

With a nod, Ketch sipped his tea. "It's a rather large group," he mused, nodding to the doorway leading to the supply rooms. "A bit suffocating at times."

Rachel didn't know how to respond. She remained silent as she looked to the empty doorway, feeling overwhelmed at the massive changes she just went through, and the apparently large group of skilled people she would meet if she stayed. What could she possibly offer an operation like this? She had some skills with a knife, but just enough to potentially keep her from being mugged. Not enough to stop a monster. Still, the peace Sam's presence brought her was undeniable. And he seemed to want her there, too. Was it enough of a reason? Or would she look like a pathetic idiot to learn he was just a nice guy, one who didn't share her dilemma?

She didn't hear Ketch set down his tea behind her, too lost in thought until he abruptly grabbed her arm from behind. Without thinking, Rachel whipped out her knife and turned in his hold, flipping open and pressing the blade against his throat. Ketch smiled, which confused her. "Bravo," he said, unaffected by her death glare or her knife to his neck. "Well done."

Rachel shoved Ketch away, her heart racing as she gripped her knife. "What the hell was that about?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry to scare you," he said. "I wanted to see if I was right, and I was. You've certainly got splendid instincts for a woman who's 'not really anything.'" Ketch smoothed his suit. He watched her slowly lower her arm, still gripping the knife.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm merely showing you your natural born talent." Ketch's voice softened. "I've an eye for these sort of things. I worked with the Men Of Letters previously. You learn to recognize good instinctive qualities when you see them." He stepped closer as she slowly put her knife away. "Please. Take it as a compliment."

"Kind of a strange one."

"Ah, but what isn't already strange about this life?" Ketch bridged the gap between them. "Perhaps participating in a few hand to hand lessons would help you to see your own power."

"I'm not … I'm not a hunter," Rachel repeated with less conviction. She tried to match Ketch's gaze but couldn't.

"Not yet, anyway," he replied with a smile. "There's time for that. And I could help you, if you'd like. The American methods are far less tidy than ours. Might be better to learn the British way."

Rachel looked Ketch over. He wasn't a bad looking man, but he seemed opportunistic, and a bit slimy. Still, there was a genuine quality to his words and actions, which made him as a whole entirely too confusing. She didn't reply. She couldn't. Something within her told her not to.

Her choice to remain silent and look away irritated Ketch. He would've figured it easier to gain her interest than she was making it. He had to shift gears. It was time for Plan B-demolish anything Sam may have planted in her mind. "Well, if you will excuse me," Ketch said, taking up his teacup, "I need to finish up some packing. It was lovely to meet you, Rachel."

"Packing?" Rachel asked, hating herself for her curiosity.

Ketch nodded. "I return to England in a few days."

"Why?"

"Well, let's just say that Sam and I … we don't see eye to eye."

Rachel stepped forward a bit, interest piqued. "About what?"

A smile spread over Ketch's mouth. _Bingo._ "Oh, practically everything. He's far too controlling. Doesn't truly trust anyone to do their job properly without micromanagement. It's what ultimately destroyed the boy's mother."

Brow wrinkled, Rachel shook her head. "Mary?"

"No," Ketch corrected. "Sam's son, Robert. His mother." He saw how Rachel's eyes rounded a little in surprise; it was more than satisfying to reveal Sam's secrets. "Sam's insistence on control is what ultimately ruined his fiancée, and why she was lost to us. It's a shame, really. She was so young. Just happened not too long ago."

Ketch walked away, leaving a shocked Rachel behind. _He has a son? He had a …_ She was right to believe there wasn't a connection between them. How could there be? He was mourning the loss of his lover. He was only being kind. It didn't matter if she felt it or not. _I'm an idiot. Of course there was nothing there._ There was no way she would confuse the situation. It was better to just ignore it all, even though she knew it would be more than difficult to do.

* * *

Sam took the phone Rick handed him, drawing in a breath. "This is Sam Winchester," he said, digging the pads of his fingers into his temples. Tried as he might to shift gears, his mind was still on the feel of Rachel so close to him. He was no more than two seconds away from tasting her. _Maybe it's better. Maybe it would be way too fast._ Still, he could tell she felt it, the chemistry between them. Rachel had been right—she told him on the other plane that she never lost that chemistry with him. And it was what he clung to in hopes she'd stay at the bunker.

"Sam Winchester," the voice on the other end said with an air of disdain. It made Sam a bit confused. "You're quite a popular guy. Must think an awful lot about yourself. Though I'm not sure if it's deserved."

"Can I help you?" he asked, bristling immediately as he thought of Robbie and Rachel being in potential danger.

"I highly doubt you're helping anyone, including my sister."

Sam's lips parted, coolness running through his veins. "August Lentz," he murmured, his hand lowering from his face.

"Very good. I assume my sister has mentioned me before."

"Yeah. She mentioned you were an asshole, and she wasn't wrong."

August laughed. "It would be like Rachel to pick someone like you. A demon. You've got demon blood, right? Maybe that's why you try to masquerade as a real human being. Because you're a disgusting piece of trash."

"What the hell do you want?" Sam snapped.

"I want you to stay away from my sister," August replied. "In fact, I'll be coming to collect her shortly. Now that I know you're in Kansas, it's only a matter of time before I track you down."

Sam scoffed, though he was a bit fearful at August's apparent knowledge. "Yeah. Good luck with that, dickweed. I'm done with this."

"Don't you hang up on me, Winchester," August snarled. "Put Rachel on the line."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. "You're joking, right? You honestly think I'd let you talk to her?"

"She's _my_ sister," August replied.

"You haven't _ever_ been her brother," Sam shot back, his tone dark.

"I don't need to be her brother. I just need to keep her alive. And away from you."

"You know what? You can fuck all the way off."

"Listen to me," August warned. "I _will_ be bringing my sister home, so enjoy the last bits of time you have left with her. Because once I do, I'll make sure you never find her."

"Why the hell are you doing this now?" Sam asked with a growl.

"It's a business move," August said. "See, thanks to you and your kind, the evils of the world have been more than stirred up. My father died recently, but not before he told me his dirty little secret about Rachel's lineage, and how to charge her powers. My congregation needs Rachel's particular skill set to help boost our morale, and more importantly, our numbers. She'd be quite the money maker. Imagine the book deals, television bookings … and of course all the revival events I'd host. People pay quite a bit for 'miracles.'"

Sam was livid at the mere idea of Rachel being thought of as nothing more than a commodity, let alone so abused by the people who claimed to be her family. "Now it's your turn to listen to me, you pathetic sonofabitch," Sam snarled, rabid with anger. "You'll _never_ lay a finger on her. _Ever_. Even if you decide to bring your sorry ass here, you'll never get anywhere near here. And I promise you, I'll make your death as slow and painful as I possibly can."

Sam slammed the phone down, still gripping it tightly as he huffed. He tried to slow his breathing down, shutting his eyes tightly. August didn't seem to know about Robbie, which he was thankful for. Still, he knew if August was anything like his father Jeremy, he would most definitely be pursuing Rachel for her powers. The asshat mentioned knowing how to ignite her powers. Did he have grace to administer? How'd he get it if he did?

Then another realization flowed through him—if Rachel didn't remember her life after August, would she now go with him if he cooked up some kind of pathetic plea? The idea made him nauseous. His Rachel would never think to, but what about this version? Would she be fooled?


	107. Chapter 106

"Dad," Robbie interrupted as he flapped in with a yawn. "Uncle Dean said you wanted to talk when I woke up."

Sam turned to the boy, his heart breaking at the task he would ask him to do. He knew Robbie would be thrilled, but losing him as a child seemed like more than he could bear. "I do." He squatted down, brushing some of Robbie's dark waves away from his bright green eyes. "I want to ask you a big favor."

Robbie's eyes widened. "What?"

Drawing in a breath, Sam continued. "You know Mom's body is okay, right?" The boy nodded. "Uncle Cas said that only a very little bit of her is left in her new soul. That means that she isn't who she was without the rest of it. What I wanted to ask was …" He sighed. "I know you wanted to help her before, at the beach. But she was scared that you would get hurt."

"She didn't think I could do it," Robbie grumbled.

"She was worried about you," Sam gently corrected. "She loves you so much that if something were to happen …" He bit back his fear that snaked its way around his heart. "Robbie, we have a chance to help Mom. And it's something only you can do."

Robbie's mood shifted up dramatically. "What is it?!"

Sam exhaled deeply. "Mom's soul is in the other plane of existence still. If we can get it back—"

"We can get Mom back," Robbie finished softly. His eyes widened as he looked at Sam. "I can find it!" he said with confidence and excitement. "I know I can, Dad!"

"Alright," Sam said, trying to fight his urge to take back everything he just said. "Easy. Uncle Dean is going with you. And I need you to listen very carefully to him. No matter what. Okay?"

Robbie nodded enthusiastically. Then, he paused. "But Dad, I don't know if I'll be strong enough as a kid."

Sam ran his fingers through Robbie's hair. "I know," he whispered, a tear slipping past his eyes.

"You're letting me grow," Robbie murmured, shocked.

"Just … Just a little, okay?" Sam said, waiting for confirmation.

"Yes, sir!"

Sam pulled in Robbie for a fierce hug, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. "I love you," he whispered. "Please don't grow more than you need to."

"I won't," Robbie promised, murmuring into Sam's plaid covered shoulder.

Picking him up, Sam stood and carried the boy with him as he headed upstairs. He paused, remembering Rachel was up there. He couldn't let Robbie see her like she was. It would hurt him. "It's okay, Dad," Robbie said, sitting up in Sam's embrace and looking into his eyes. "I won't get sad. I want to see Mom."

"She's … She's not …"

"I know. But she's still my mom. Remember? She said that."

Sam smiled, another tear falling. "I remember." He kissed Robbie's forehead, then resumed heading upstairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," Robbie assured as he wiped his father's tear. "I got this. All of it."

His confidence and pride made Sam smirk. "Oh yeah?"

Robbie nodded. "Yeah. It's a milk run!" Sam sighed, somewhere between petrified and amused. "It is," Robbie assured. "Trust me!"

Sam tightened his hold around his son. "I do," he murmured. "It doesn't mean I won't be scared."

"It's okay. You said it was okay to be scared."

"I did."

"So, did you kiss Mom yet?" Robbie asked with a sly grin.

Sam's brow wrinkled in amusement. "What makes you ask that?"

"I know you want to," Robbie shrugged.

"Of course I do, but—"

"Then, just kiss her!"

"It doesn't work that way. Both people have to want to. It has to be something shared."

"Oh. Well that's dumb. It just makes it harder."

"It does," Sam said sadly, but moreso amused.

Robbie watched as they headed up the stairs, seeing Rachel. She was so consumed by the whirlwind of emotions Ketch stirred up that she jumped when they entered the room. She turned, eyes wide as she looked to him, seeing Robbie in his arms. "Sorry," Sam said softly, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Rachel's lips parted as he approached. "It's okay," she murmured. There was something about the boy in his arms that filled her with immediate warmth. It tugged at her fiercely, nearing making her cry. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ Maybe she was just sympathetic to him being motherless. But it felt like more. Much more.

"I got this, Dad," Robbie whispered to Sam before sliding down from his dad's embrace. Sam immediately panicked behind him, not knowing what Robbie meant, though frightened that he actually did know. "Hi," Robbie said brightly, coming to stand in front of Rachel, "my name is Robert Jonathan Winchester. But you can call me Robbie."

"Hi, Robbie," Rachel replied softly with a smile, squatting down to his level. Though, with her short stature, it wasn't too far a distance. He was a handsome boy, a miniature version of his father, but with dark hair like her own, and piercing green eyes. "I'm Rachel Christine Lentz. But you can call me Rachel."

"I know," Robbie grinned. "Dad told me _all_ about you."

Rachel's lips parted as she glanced up to Sam, who looked more than embarrassed. She swore she saw him squirm, which hooked her. "Did he, now?" she asked with a teasing grin, forgetting her resolve not to entangle herself with the handsome, towering hunter. "And what did he say?"

Robbie's eyes seemed to get brighter, hearing his father's panicked thoughts over his game. What Sam didn't know what that he simultaneously was listening to his mother's thoughts, crafting his own version of Parent Trap as he went. "He said you're good with computers. And he thinks that's cool."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He thinks you're really smart."

Rachel flicked her eyes to Sam, offering a small smile. "Well, that's kind of him."

Robbie's grin widened as she refocused on him. "Yeah. He really likes that thing you did to the security system. But he likes your hair a _lot_ more. He thinks it looks soft. He wants to touch it."

Rachel's brow rose, her expression shifting with her surprise. "...Oh."

"He thinks you're _really super_ pretty. And he wants to—"

Sam gave a loud, awkward interrupting laugh behind them, nearly choking on his own saliva. He coughed, feeling his embarrassment practically roast his cheeks. "Okay, Robbie," he said, cutting the boy off as he tried to clear his throat, "why don't you go see if Uncle Dean needs help."

"He went on a supply run, remember?" Robbie reminded, looking at Sam with a hint of a smirk.

"Right." Sam eyed him, drawing in a nervous breath. "Uh. Dishes."

"Did them."

"Then, uh … go … clean your room."

"Aw man," Robbie muttered.

"Now, please," Sam said with a tender sternness. _And don't use your wings. You'll freak Mom out._

"Yes, sir."

Sam was more than relieved when the boy walked away instead of using his wings. By the time he figured out Robbie was reading his mind, it was too late. He sucked in a shaky breath as Rachel straightened. His feet felt glued to the floor. "Uh, sorry about that," he managed, taking a small step closer.

"He's a sweet boy," Rachel replied with an assuring smile, though her stomach was overrun by chaotic butterflies.

"Yeah. He, uh, he's a … he's a jokester." _Why the hell did I say that?_

Rachel felt a rush of disappointment flow within her. "I'm … I'm sure."

Sam panicked, seeing her look away. Before he could redeem himself, Dean busted open the front door, carrying two paper bags. "Daddy's home," he smirked, knowing how it irritated Sam. Mary and Bobby followed, each with another bag, exiting to the supply rooms.

Dean saw Rachel, remembering when he first started flirting with her so Sam would make a move. He also saw the awkward tension between them, deciding to intervene. "Well, hi there," he said as he descended the stairs. "Glad to see you up and about." He set the bags down, coming to stand in front of Rachel. "The name's Dean, but you can call me whatever you'd like." He stuck his hand out with a charming smile.

"Rachel," she replied, taking his hand. Dean was certainly handsome and charming, but there wasn't the same chemistry as with Sam. If anything, he felt like the protective but teasing older brother she never had. She had August, but he wasn't really ever a brother to her.

"Dean," Sam snapped, his brother looking at him over his shoulder. "Let's get those groceries put away."

Sam snagged a bag from the table, eyeing his brother. If looks could kill, Dean definitely would've been dead. With a laugh he suppressed, Dean let go of Rachel's hand and followed Sam into the kitchen. "Be right back, sweetheart," he said with a wink to Rachel.

Rachel's brow couldn't raise higher as she watched the brothers disappear into the kitchen, not missing Sam's anger at Dean. It was a clear look of territory. _Maybe he does feel the chemistry too_.

Once away from Rachel, Sam threw the bag on the table, whirling around to his brother, his hands on his hips. "What the actual fuck, Dean?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, please. I remember those looks from the first time you two met in Nebraska." He was unfazed at the daggers Sam shot at him with his eyes. "Let me guess: She tossed you bait, you had an in, and then you panicked and said something really stupid, shutting her down. Am I right?" Sam opened his mouth to snap a reply, but nothing came out. "Right," Dean continued as he unloaded the beer into the fridge. "So, obviously, you needed your ass kicked into making a damn move. You're welcome."

"That's …" Sam threw his hands up, exasperated. "Dean, she _just_ met me today. What do you want me to do?"

Dean popped the top off of a beer. "Not be an idiot?" he suggested. "No matter how many times that girl's melon is wiped, she always has a thing for you. It's clear as day. So, just go for it."

"I can't just 'go for it,'" Sam argued. "There's something called _respect_ , you know."

"I'm not saying you start smacking her on the ass," Dean quipped as he sat with his beer. "Just, go up to her and own it." He shrugged, still amused. "Then smack her ass."

Frustrated beyond belief, Sam growled. "Just … Don't be _you_ around her," he demanded. "I mean it."

"I'll stop when you make a move."

"No," Sam corrected as he approached the table. "You'll stop _now_."

Dean took drink, sighing. "I got you bacon," he said, wagging his brows. "For tomorrow morning. If all goes well, she'll be hungry."

Knowing what he meant, Sam's jaw ticked. "I swear, I'm going to strangle you." He turned on his heel, pausing as he jabbed a finger out to Dean. "I mean it," he warned. "Stop."

Sam didn't wait for a response, trudging back up the few stairs to the main level as he made his way to the maps room. Rachel was still there, and he immediately felt nervous. "Hey," he said, gaining her attention. "Sorry … about him."

Rachel's brow lifted. "About Dean?" She smiled. "He's fine. I know his type. He's about as harmful as a teddy bear."

Sam smirked. "He'd like to think otherwise, but you're not wrong. What are older brothers for, I guess?"

With a pause, Sam remembered his conversation with August. His stomach sank as he thought of August's threat. He knew the asshole would eventually be there. It was only a matter of time. He had to get Rachel's soul back before then. He couldn't risk it. Whether she had a good relationship with him or not, she might still be persuaded without her memories. "Do you, uh, have any siblings?" he decided to ask, trying to gauge her feelings.

Rachel immediately clammed up. "I … I have an ... older brother … and a sister in law," she replied, looking down at the floor.

Sam saw the pain in her eyes and moved to her, bridging the distance between them. "Hey," he said gently, "I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

Rachel shook her head. "It's fine. He and I just … were never close."

"I'm sorry," Sam replied with concern.

Rachel continued to brush it off. The shell she created around herself with such ease made Sam ache for her. "It's okay. I haven't really seen them in like ten years, so I'm good." She smiled; it was painfully forced. "Anyway, I'm … gonna … um …" She backed away, not finishing her sentence. Instead, she left the maps room in a hurry back toward the spare bedroom.

Sam shut his eyes, defeat overwhelming him. "Rachel," he said, rushing after her. He finally caught up to her in the hallway. He saw the glisten of her tears and immediately regretted not letting her have space.

"Yeah?" she said, trying to seem fine, though she was far from it.

"I …" Sam blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't been thinking about how overwhelming all this must be for you." In truth, he hadn't. He had known her in the most intimate of ways, but to her, he was nothing more than a stranger. And it killed him to not be able to be who he used to be for her.

Rachel was surprised. It wasn't like people to consider her feelings. No one besides Hailey ever really did. "It's okay," she insisted, though she was appreciative of him recognizing the nature of everything.

"People _do_ care," Sam whispered, taking a step closer. She seemed surprised by his perceptiveness. "You matter," he reminded her.

Neither spoke, each focused on either the wall or the floor. Rachel went to speak, then stopped. "What is it?" Sam asked gently, stepping closer.

"I … I can see," she replied with a laugh. Sam's brows wrinkled. "What I mean is, I wore glasses or contacts, but since I've been here, I … I can see fine. I'm not wearing my lenses. I just …" Rachel dared to meet his eyes. "Did something happen to me?" she whispered.

Sam gulped. He hadn't thought of how Robbie restored her vision after she had died from giving birth. Or how to cover that detail. "I … I'm sorry, I … I don't know anything about that."

Rachel's cheeks immediately flushed. It was the dumbest thing she could possibly ask, and yet here she was, embarrassing herself. She laughed. Sam felt horrible for her apparent shame. "Right," she said, backing toward her door. "Probably just … uh … Yeah, really dumb. Uh … Thanks."

Before he could speak, she was inside her room, the door giving a solid click as it was shut. Sam closed his eyes, his head dropping back. _Fucking hell._ He had been so close to her, and now he was so far. He made her feel like an idiot. But how could she possibly process the truth?

Defeated, Sam moved down the far end of the hall and went to his own room, the first in the next section of rooms, nearly slamming his own door shut. He leaned up against the wood, hating himself with each passing second. All he wanted to do was to wrap Rachel into his arms and never let her go. The loneliness he saw in her killed him. She was his. There was no reason for her to be hurting. Had he been a brave man, he would've thrown caution to the wind and busted into her room, taking possession of her while assuring her she wasn't insane. He groaned as the thought made him react. Now was _not_ the time for that. It seemed unavoidable, though. The mere idea of her being so close yet so out of reach made him insane.

Pacing his room like a caged lion, he sighed. What could he possibly do to earn her trust? The truth wasn't an option. It would scare the shit out of her. What was left?

"Dad?" Robbie asked as he flapped into his father's room.

Sam paused, looking down at his son. Immediately the pain of letting him go to the other plane gutted him once again. "Yeah, buddy?"

"My room is clean. And Uncle Dean said we should go soon."

Shutting his eyes, Sam squatted down to Robbie's level. He opened them, searching his son's eyes. "I know. I just … I don't want to let you go."

Robbie nodded. "I know. But I have to, Dad. Especially with that guy who wants to take Mom."

Sam's lips parted. "Robbie, I … You can't go into people's heads like that, remember?"

"I didn't. I heard you talking to him on the phone," Robbie corrected. "Is that really Mom's brother?"

"No, thank God."

"But he wants to take her."

"He does. If he knew about you, he'd want you just as much. Maybe more."

"That's why I've got to go. So he can't have Mom."

Sam nodded, brushing his son's hair from his eyes. "I know. It's just really hard to do."

"I'll be okay, Dad," Robbie assured. "So will Uncle Dean. I'll keep him safe. I promise."

With a sigh, Sam picked up Robbie and carried him to Dean's room. "Yeah," he heard Dean reply after he knocked. Sam opened the door, seeing his brother busy packing a large backpack of weapons and supplies. "So, did you get in there and own it?" Dean asked with a grin.

"No," Sam admitted, setting Robbie down. "And she now probably thinks she's more of a burden, and possibly a freak."

Dean stopped, whirling around to him. "What the hell did you do?"

"She pointed out her healed eyesight and … and I panicked and played dumb."

"Wonderful."

"I'll go talk to her," Robbie decided with a sure nod.

Before Sam could object, the boy flapped away. "Dammit," Sam grumbled, heading toward the door.

"Let him go," Dean urged, surprising Sam. "Look, the kid is smart. He can read her mind. This is a great way to show him you trust him."

"He's like an eight year-old," Sam reasoned.

"Yeah, and you're thirty-six and still screwed it up," Dean quipped. "Let him try. Oh, by the way, I packed Little Man some bigger clothes and shoes, just in case."

Sam sighed, his head hanging. He watched Dean pack some more, his stomach knotting tighter. "Dean, if he can't —-"

"I won't let him grow too much," Dean assured.

"I know you're going with him, but this scares the shit out of me." Sam rubbed his brow. "Maybe even more than August's threat."

Dean stopped, turning to his brother. "Who's?"

"August Lentz," Sam grumbled. He sat on the end of Dean's bed, shaking his head. "Rachel's 'dad' died recently and told her douchebag brother about her powers. Now the asshole is set on taking her and using her as a miracle milk cow."

"When the hell did this happen?!"

"Just before you got home. Called on the hotline. He knows we're in Kansas. That's about all he knows, though."

"Well, without juice, she's useless to him for that."

"Apparently he 'knows' how to activate her. I've got to assume Jeremy had some of her grace stored away somewhere."

"Shit," Dean sighed, sitting next to his brother. "She has a really fucked up family."

"Yeah."

The brothers sat in silence. "You think she'd … believe him? If he crafted some kind of sob story?" Dean asked softly.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Timeline wise, we're before she learned that Jeremy isn't her father."

"But she still remembers the shit he did."

"Yeah, but August could make something up and she could want a family enough to believe it."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

Dean patted his brother's back. "All the more reason we need to find her soul. Our Rach would shoot his dick off." He stood, zipping up his backpack.

Sam stood, drawing in a deep breath. "I'd better go see what Robbie's doing."

"Probably telling her all your secrets," Dean snickered.

"He already did that," Sam laughed. "Didn't hold back one bit."

"Atta boy."

Sam eyed his brother playfully as Dean slung the backpack over his shoulder. "You know, I'm beginning to think you're a bad influence on him."

Dean grinned. "You're _beginning_ to? Damn, Sammy. You're way behind."

Sam shook his head as he left the room, Dean following behind him. "Let Little Man know I'm ready," Dean said as he left in the opposite direction.

"Dean," Sam called out, halting his brother. Dean turned back to him. "Be careful," he asked softly.

Dean saw the pain in Sam's eyes. "Come 'ere," he said, wrapping Sam in a hug as he approached. "We'll be fine. You take care of your girl. Pretty soon, it'll all be back to normal." They each gave each other a pat on the back, then parted. "We got this. Yeah?" Dean asked Sam, waiting expectantly as he looked at his brother.

Sam nodded softly. "Yeah," he managed. He watched Dean leave, his stomach still sick.

* * *

As Sam and Dean talked, Robbie knocked on Rachel's door. "Come in," she said, sitting on the bed. She smiled, though a bit confused when she saw the child. "Hey," she said as Robbie closed the door.

"Hi." Robbie jumped up on the bed next to her.

"Aren't you supposed to be cleaning your room? I don't want your dad to get mad at you."

"I already cleaned it," Robbie grinned. "So, what's your favorite dessert?" he asked, perched on his knees.

Rachel wasn't expecting his visit, let alone his question. "Um, I … I think cake."

"I like cake. But I _love_ pie!" Robbie nearly shouted. "I like cherry pie or apple pie the best."

"That sounds good," Rachel agreed, unable to help the warmth that filled her when she was around the boy. "I like red velvet cake."

Robbie stuck his tongue out. "There's velvet in the cake? Eww!"

"No," Rachel laughed. "It's just the name."

"Oh. Well, that's good. Anyway, what are your favorite flowers?" Robbie continued.

The boy's questions were random and confusing. "Um, peonies," she answered. Robbie started giggling, which quickly turned into a hysterical bout of laughter. The boy flopped back onto the bed as he cackled. Rachel couldn't help but laugh. "What's so funny?" she teased.

"You … You said pee on knees," he squealed, his cheeks red.

Rachel's laughter grew as Robbie's kept going. " _Peo-nies_ ," she emphasized, though her grin was still present.

"Sounds like pee on knees," Robbie managed between giggles. He hiccuped; it was incredibly endearing.

"So why are you asking me all these questions?" she asked as Robbie managed to calm down a bit.

"Because," Robbie shrugged as he sat up.

"Because why?" Rachel implored with a smirk.

Robbie hiccuped again. "Because I'm trying to help Dad."

Rachel's breath caught in her throat. "Help … him?"

"Uh-huh." His reply was broken up by small hiccups. "Because … he doesn't always … say the … right things. Sometimes he … gets scared."

"Scared of what?"

Robbie sighed semi-dramatically. His hiccups seemed to subside after a moment. "I don't know. It's stupid! He's so _big_. He shouldn't be scared of _anything_." He shrugged. "But. He is … so, I've gotta help him." For a moment, he studied Rachel. "He said something dumb, didn't he?"

Rachel's lips parted. "Uh …"

"It's okay. I know he did." Robbie crossed his legs under himself as he sat, facing her. His expression turned very serious. "So, here's the plan. You just gotta like, be patient with him. You know? He'll say he's sorry soon. He's good like that. And he gives good hugs, so he can give you one too. Then it can be fixed!"

"Robbie," Rachel said gently, trying not to hurt the boy's feelings, "I … It's okay. Your dad and I … We don't know each other, and … It's fine. He's been very kind to me. Everyone has. He doesn't need to apologize at all."

"Yes, he does. And he needs to give you cake and flowers. And jewelry. And maybe even dance with you."

"He doesn't need to do any of that."

"Yeah, he does. Do you like to dance?" He cut her off before she could answer. "He can teach you. He taught me how to do jumping jacks. That's kinda the same thing, right?"

Rachel shook her head. "None of that is necessary."

"Well, if he doesn't do it, then you'll go away," Robbie argued; his mouth pursed with the thought.

"It's very nice of him to offer your home, but I … I do have to go," Rachel said softly. "I don't … I don't belong here."

"Yes, you do!" Robbie insisted.

"I don't, Robbie," Rachel said with regret. "I can't live here. This is a place for hunters, like your dad, and … I'm not a hunter."

Robbie scoffed. "Oh, I can teach you. I know all about hunting."

His confidence made her smile. "You do, do you?"

"Yep. It's easy! I even know incantations and wardings! Anyway, salt and iron is for ghosts. Gotta salt them before you burn 'em, though. Dead Man's Blood is for vamps. Or you can chop their heads off. Like this!" He demonstrated with a swing of his arms, gripping an imaginary machete. " _Wa-chow_! Boom! Dead vamp. Rugarus you have to light on fire. But Dad said I'm not allowed to touch matches. And silver kills werewolves. See? Easy!"

Rachel's heart stopped at the thought of shooting Alex. Her heart still ached. Alex was the only person left she kind of had. Sam had offered his home, but it seemed like charity. She couldn't weigh him down. Not when he had such an important job being a father and a lead hunter. "Robbie, I …" She shook her head. "I can't stay."

Robbie snagged Rachel's hand, his small one giving it an unnaturally strong squeeze. "You have to! Because … If you leave, then … then Dad will be alone. And I won't have a mom."

It was more than difficult to explain the intricacies of relationships to the child. Despite his intelligence and perception, Robbie was still very much a little boy. "Sweetheart," Rachel said, covering Robbie's hand with her own, fighting her tears. He looked so incredibly desperate. "I know … I know you lost your mom. And I'm so sorry you did. But no one can ever replace her."

"But … You _have_ to be my mom!"

"Robbie—"

"You have to be! You're the only person who can be! And Dad only wants to be with you!"

Rachel felt horrible. Robbie was more than insistent, and his innocence and kind heart broke hers. "Relationships are … complicated, and—"

"No, it's not. Just stay and you'll see!"

"Your dad may never want a relationship again."

"But he _does_! With _you_!"

"We just met, sweetie."

"But he loves you! And so do I!"

Rachel's stomach dropped. She felt a wave of nausea flow through her. Clearly Robbie was trying to give his dad happiness again. The idea was enough to make her cry. "Robbie," she whispered, reaching with her free hand to brush his hair from his eyes, "I want nothing but the best for you and your dad. I truly do. But that's not … that doesn't mean it's me."

Robbie searched her eyes. He was silent for a long moment as Rachel tenderly stroked his hair. "He makes you feel safe," Robbie finally said, his voice soft. Rachel's hand froze. "And he makes you feel like someone cares. Because no one ever cared, right?"

The way the child seemed to siphon the feelings from the safety of her mind was unnerving. "No one ever has," Robbie continued. "Not even your mom or dad. Or your brother." Rachel's hand slowly dropped to her lap, her lips parting. "And it makes you happy, that Dad cares. It makes you feel good. And safe. So, you should let him take care of you. Because it makes him really happy too."

A tear slipped down Rachel's cheek. How did this child know her pain? She was frozen to her seat, unable to barely breathe. "It's okay," Robbie said, wiping her tears. "Dad loves you. Even if he says dumb things. Just try to remember that. Okay?"

The way the child looked so hopefully at her made her heart burst. "Okay," she whispered with a nod.


	108. Chapter 107

With a deep breath, Sam turned and headed for Rachel's room. As he got closer to the door, he could hear Rachel laughing, then Robbie giggling.

"Watch this!" Robbie challenged. Sam could hear the springs creak on the mattress, then an _oof_ as Robbie landed. "Wait, let me try again! _Boom_! Crushed the ghost with my iron chest!" As Robbie landed a second time, Sam knocked. "Come in!" Robbie said through his giggles. "It's Dad," he heard him whisper loudly.

Sam opened the door, meeting Rachel's eyes as she turned to look at him. Her hair was free from its braid, draped over her shoulders. She had added a hoodie over her knit top, and her cheeks were flushed from laughter as she sat on the bed with Robbie. She never looked more beautiful. "Hey, buddy," Sam said softly; Rachel noticed the flicker of pain in his eyes. "Uncle Dean's ready to go."

Robbie nodded. He took Rachel's hand. "Don't worry," he said confidently. "I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?" she asked him gently.

"A camping trip," Robbie shrugged.

Rachel smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. "That sounds fun."

"Yeah. We're gonna find some treasure." Robbie wrapped his arms around Rachel's neck, giving her a fierce hug. Rachel hesitated for a moment, then enveloped him with her arms. She stroked his back, her eyes shutting as she felt an undeniable love fill her. She barely knew the boy, but she couldn't help the maternal feelings that overcame her. "Don't worry," he whispered into her ear. "I'll be back soon. Dad will take care of you. I know it. Just let him."

When Robbie parted from Rachel, he saw the mixture of emotions in her eyes. Still, he smiled. He could hear her thoughts. Everything would be fine while he was gone. The boy hopped off the bed and nodded to his dad. Then he waved to Rachel, who hesitantly waved back. A sickness filled her as she watched Robbie and Sam go, though she had no real explanation for it.

Once the door shut and she was alone, Rachel laid back in her bed, overwhelmed. What Robbie had said was so incredibly perceptive and specific that … _Don't be ridiculous,_ she chided herself. He couldn't possibly be anything more than a loving, intelligent eight year-old boy. _But how did he know I had a brother? And about Mom and Dad?_ She gulped, thinking about the boy's grip. _No. There's nothing strange about him. Stop trying to see things that aren't there._

* * *

Dean waited in the library with Castiel, Jack, and Mary. No one was particularly thrilled about the plan, but no one had any better ideas. "Are you sure he'll be okay?" Mary asked Castiel.

Castiel nodded. "He's a strong boy, Mary. He's capable."

Robbie entered with his boots and jacket on. Sam kept a tight grip on his hand. Dean gave Robbie a smile. "Ready, Little Man?" he asked.

Robbie nodded. "Yep."

Sam held his son's hand, more than hesitant to let him go. He bit back the tears that wanted to fall. "Sam," Castiel said gently, taking a step closer. "He will be okay. He's more equipped for this than anyone in existence."

It didn't help, though he knew it was true. "I just …" Sam suppressed a shudder. "I … I can't lose him too."

Dean set his bag down, moving to Sam. He rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. "He'll be alright, Sammy. I won't let anything happen to him. No matter what."

"Or you," Sam insisted.

"Or me."

With a nod, Sam gave Robbie's hand a squeeze. He lifted his son into his arms, pressing a thoughtful kiss to his cheek. "Only what you need," he reminded him in his ear. "I love you."

"I love you, Dad," Robbie whispered back. "And so does Mom. I know it. You make her feel safe. Just keep making her feel safe. She needs that."

A few tears slipped down Sam's cheeks. "I will," he promised.

Robbie slipped out of Sam's arms. He accepted a hug from Castiel, Jack, and Mary, then took Dean's hand as Dean slung his backpack on his shoulder. "I'll be back soon," Robbie said as he looked at his father.

Sam let more tears fall as they disappeared. His pulse skyrocketed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He swiped at his face, flicking his gaze to the others. "Right. Uh, I'll be at the monitors."

Before Mary could speak, Sam was opening the lid to his laptop, focused on the screen. She glanced to Castiel, who gave a small shake of his head. Nothing could comfort Sam in that moment. Nothing except his son and Dean's safe return.

* * *

"So," Dean said with a sigh as he looked around himself. The other plane of existence didn't seem like anything too far out of the ordinary. Where they landed looked like a normal forest type of environment. Though, they just landed. There was still time for things to get strange. "This is it?"

Robbie looked up at him. "Yep. Well, this part anyway. Mom was on a beach."

"A beach."

"Yeah."

"Do we know what the beach was called?"

"Nope."

Dean sighed. "Fan-friggin-tastic." He dug out his compass from his pocket, finding them to be pointing north. "Anything you can tell me about the beach?"

"Um. The water was clear."

"Clear."

"Yeah. And it had some rocks along the edge."

"Was it cold?"

"No. It was warm."

Dean looked down at the compass. _East or west._ He couldn't decide, though his gut said west."Alright, kid—where do you say we start?"

Robbie pursed his lips. "Well, I think we should just follow the weird stuff."

"The … weird stuff?"

"Uh-huh. Uncle Cas said that souls are like balls of light. And I read in the library that weird stuff happens where souls rest. So, if we find a ball of light and weird stuff, then I guess it's good."

"Right," Dean muttered.

Robbie didn't seem phased by his uncle's reluctance. "Souls are powerful, and the most ancient, purest forms of energy," he continued. "So I guess when they hang out somewhere, they make weird stuff happen. Like, stuff you wouldn't find on earth."

"What if we find more than one?"

Robbie shrugged, slinging his small backpack over his shoulder. "I'm sure I'll know which one is hers. She's my mom."

Dean wasn't entirely convinced. Castiel had said the job would be something Robbie could handle, but he never mentioned potential weird obstacles. He slowly nodded, jabbing his finger to the left. It was too late to argue about it now. "Alright. Westward Ho, buddy."

It felt like at least two hours that they walked, finally coming to a clearing under the short ridge they now stood on. Robbie hopped down into a fairly deep divot in the ground to get closer to the edge, but Dean managed to stop him before he got too far. He kept a firm grip on his nephew's shoulder. "Hang on," he whispered. He could see something in the distance.

"What is it?" Robbie asked.

Dean held up a finger as he let go of Robbie's shoulder. He shrugged off his backpack and took out a pair of binoculars, lifting them up to his eyes and studying the images in the clearing. "Uh, Robbie?" Dean said softly, still looking in the binoculars.

"Yeah, Uncle Dean?" Robbie asked.

"What qualifies as 'weird stuff?'"

"Uh … I guess whatever you don't see usually?"

Dean nodded. "Uh-huh. So, dinosaurs qualify, then?"

Robbie's eyes widened. "Dinosaurs?!" he squealed in excitement.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, grabbing on to Robbie's backpack before he could scramble away to see them closer. "Stay here."

Robbie pouted behind Dean as Dean approached the edge of the ridge. He peered through the binoculars, brow wrinkled as he took in the sight. Lush trees lined the lower clearing, bushes and flowers covering the rest of the expanse. It was like a zoo had been let loose in the clearing, except most of the animals were unfamiliar. When Dean spotted a massive fruit tree that stood above the rest, he lowered his binoculars in shock. "Holy shit," he breathed.

He looked back to Robbie, even more stunned when he saw that the divot they stood in was an impression of a giant creature's foot. "Uh, Robbie?" he said, his heart racing.

"Yeah?" Robbie asked.

"I think … I think we're in the Garden of Eden 2.0."

* * *

It was late when Rachel dared to leave her room. After several hours of thinking, she found herself more than hungry. She had missed dinner, which she was sure did not go unnoticed. Still, after talking with Robbie, she couldn't wrap her head around anything else but the boy's hauntingly accurate assessment of her. It was eerie, just as her restored eyesight felt.

The bunker was dark and quiet, save for a couple dim lights in the halls. She wandered down to the kitchen, pouring herself a tall glass of ice water and drinking it down. She sighed, looking around herself. The bunker was industrial at best, not nearly homey enough to really seem like a house. Still, there were so many signs of life throughout it. What bits were Sam? She stepped toward the open shelves, looking at the groceries. A can of protein powder sat next to a box of Captain Crunch. It seemed like an odd combination. But she was willing to bet the powder was Sam's. He seemed like a protein powder guy. An egg white omelet, salad bar, lean fish guy. Did he have vices? What was his weakness?

Abandoning her glass, she peered into the fridge and saw a container of stew. She proceeded to heat up a bowl in the microwave, sighing as she hoisted herself up onto the counter to enjoy it. She sipped it thoughtfully, relieved she was alone. She had met five people and it was enough for one day. Still, there were lots more, she assumed. She heard them milling about, chatting, laughing, and even working. Despite the concrete, sounds seemed to travel well enough in the bunker. Naturally, she heard more male voices than female, but she was especially curious about the females there. They were warriors, unlike herself. A horrid, burning thought bore through her, unrelenting as she sat in the kitchen. She was useless. She couldn't even kill a werewolf. _I don't belong here. I'm dead weight. A burden. I have to go. I can't do this to Sam. Not when he's grieving._

Stew half eaten, she tossed her bowl in the sink and abandoned the kitchen. Urgency rushed through her, her head convinced she needed to be gone before Sam woke. Heading back to her room, Rachel flicked on the light and lifted her duffle up, setting it on the bed. She stowed the few laundry items she accumulated inside, then searched for her phone. Her brow wrinkled when she didn't see it. _What the hell?_ Did she leave it at the cabin? She didn't use it at all since she woke, either too distracted by meeting people or too consumed in thought to care. It wasn't like anyone would be contacting her anyway. She checked her old jeans pocket to be sure. Still, it was nowhere to be found.

 _Fuck!_ Another wave of tears threatened to come. Why had everything been stripped of her in one day? It seemed hardly fair. How was she supposed to function? She had hardly any cash, no means of transportation, and nowhere to go. She couldn't stay at the bunker. Sam didn't need her on his plate. But where would she go? And how would she get there?

With a deep breath, she made up her mind. She'd take a weapon and use part of her remaining cash for a ride into the next biggest city. Sam's laptop was still in the library—if she could get onto it, she could book a ride online. Then, she'd figure out the rest. There had to be shelters she could crash at until she earned enough in darts to head elsewhere.

Rachel made the bed and tidied up before lacing up her boots and shrugging her jacket on. She slung her bag over her shoulder, then flicked off the light and left the bedroom. The halls were silent as Rachel made her way into the library. She was relieved when spotted a small gun on a rack above a shelf. It would be enough to protect her. She snagged it and stuffed it in the front pocket of her bag.

"Leaving so soon?" a familiar voice asked behind her.

Whirling around, Rachel saw Ketch eyeing her with a smile. Rachel swallowed hard. "Arthur," she whispered with surprise. "Just, um … Taking my clothes to the laundromat."

"At midnight?" Ketch challenged.

"Yes."

"With a gun?"

"... Yes."

Ketch crossed the divide between them. "Where do you plan to go?" he asked, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. He wasn't dressed for bed, and she found it more than odd.

"The … laundro—"

"Right. The laundromat. Certainly not running away, right?" He smirked at her silence. "Rachel. You're a smart woman. If you're looking to leave, surely you'd agree traveling with someone with resources is a more stable plan."

"Like who?"

Ketch laughed. "You do recall I'm leaving shortly," he reminded.

Lips parting, Rachel stepped back a tiny bit. "You want me to go to England with you."

"Darling," Ketch said, moving in, leaving barely any space between them. "You've hardly any means. Surely you can't think it wise to set off on your own in an unfamiliar place. Especially with a vehicle the brothers could easily track, were you considering acquiring one from the garage."

"But … I—"

"It's merely an option. You certainly wouldn't need to worry for anything. I think you'd find the life of a British hunter far more appealing than what you see here." He held a hand up, halting her from objecting. "Just, consider it. I've the option to move my flight up, and I could purchase you a ticket if you'd like."

Rachel set her jaw. Ketch's words rang with frightening truth, but she couldn't afford to be deceived. Not that she was sure she would be. It was far too confusing, how she felt around him. "No, thank you," she replied softly, trying to harden her gaze into one of confidence.

Ketch's eyes narrowed. He was not happy with her resistance in the least. Did he except her to comply? He did hope without her memories, it would be a bit easier than she was making it. Still, her stubborn nature was still very much in tact. "Very well," he said with a sniff. There was still time. Even if she thought she was leaving in that moment, she wouldn't. She wasn't the same woman he had come to know months ago. This was a frightened mouse version, one who had yet to let hunting harden her. He would win her over. He gave her a small nod. "I wish you the best."

As Ketch left, Rachel watched him, her stomach twisted tight. Did she just blow her last good opportunity by being stubborn? Ketch was offering her an answer to every problem, as well as a potential future. It was a no-brainer. So why did she decline? Alex once said she was far too stubborn for her own good, and it'd be her demise.

 _Alex._ She hadn't really emotionally addressed the festering pain his death made. Without him, she had nothing. No one. His last moments on earth were enough to haunt her for eternity, the guilt of shooting him and the darkness of who he became nearly suffocating as she remembered their final conversation.

" _Alex," she begged, holding her gun at him. It was loaded with silver bullets that weren't at all cheap. She never meant to fire them. She thought if Alex saw them, he'd back down, that he'd straighten up. Instead, by the time she found him, three innocent people were mauled to death. "Please. Let me help you."_

" _Help me?" Alex Martinez challenged, cocking his head. "I think you're the one who needs to be helped." Rachel took a step back as he inched closer. "You should feel it, Ray," he said with a smile. "You should feel the rush. It's amazing. The power, the strength … No one can touch you." Rachel's lip quivered as he moved closer. His features had been replaced with a wolf's mostly, though he was still mid change. It didn't matter that she saw him shift twice before that night—the changes were jarring, horrifying. "No one would ever hurt you again, mami. No one."_

" _This isn't you," she shuddered. "You killed three people!"_

" _I'm making things better for us! I'm stronger when I feed. We could have anything!"_

 _Rachel gripped her gun as Alex moved closer. "Stay there," she warned, her voice and hands shaking as she backed closer to the cabin wall._

" _You gonna shoot me? Huh?" Alex asked with a smirk. "Little Rachel's gonna shoot someone?" He snickered. "You don't have it in you."_

" _I … I will."_

" _No you won't, Ray. You won't shoot me. You want the power. I know you do."_

" _Stop it."_

" _You don't want anyone to hurt you again, do you? Do you?" Alex stretched his neck to the side. "Or … maybe you like being a helpless little bitch?"_

" _Stop it!" Rachel shuddered, feeling the wall grind against her back as tears clouded her eyes._

 _Alex kept coming. "Maybe you liked being raped, huh? Maybe you liked when Daddy beat you. Maybe you like being weak and pathetic."_

" _Alex, please," Rachel begged, cocking the gun._

 _Alex wet his lips. "All you ever were was someone's little whore, Rachel. And now you're my little whore forever."_

" _I'm so sorry," she whispered through her tears._

As her finger squeezed the trigger in her mind, Sam touched Rachel's shoulder from behind her. Rachel's bag fell off her shoulder to her left as she whirled around and decked him in the face with a feral scream.

Her punch was surprisingly hard; Sam fell to the floor, the back of his head smacking against the hardwood. Rachel gasped, seeing a thin line of blood leaking from his nose in the dim lighting. "Oh God," she breathed, her heart stopping. Her hand throbbed, but she barely felt it. All she had room for was her horror at seeing Sam splayed out on the floor, seemingly in a daze as he groaned a little.

Rachel wanted to puke. She fell to her knees, brushing Sam's hair from his eyes as he sat up. "Oh my God," she shuddered, her fingers gently skimming over his nose. "I'm so sorry."

Sam had to admit being surprised by the impact of her punch. The back of his head ached from the way he hit it when he fell. He had taken worse punches, but without being prepared, it seemed to stun him for a moment. "I'll get some ice," he heard Rachel decide.

"I'm alright," he assured, his surroundings coming back into focus. "Really. It's fine." Through somewhat fuzzy vision, he watched her dash to the kitchen as he slowly stood, unable to help his soft laugh. His girl still had a mean swing.

Sam went to go after her when he saw Rachel run back in, wielding a bag filled with ice and the first aid kit. "Sit," she ordered. Sam sank into a chair, watching her frantic movements as she sealed the bag shut. "Here," she said, pressing it to the back of his head. Sam had to admit, it felt good. "Hold that there."

"Rachel," Sam said gently, pressing the ice to his head, "it's okay. I'm sorry I scared you."

"I just literally decked you in the face," she insisted, focusing on prepping the alcohol pad, then cleaning the blood under his nose. "If anyone needs to be sorry, it's me. The least I can do is clean you up."

Sam remained silent as she dabbed the blood away. His expression shifted as he recognized her mounting fear. Rachel's hands trembled as she set down the used pad, her exhale coming out in a tiny shudder.

Sam put down the ice bag and reached toward her face to cup her cheek to comfort her. Rachel jumped back a little with a wince and squeezed her eyes shut, cowering inward. Sam was immediately reminded of the horrid moment from months ago when he scared her with his anger in their bedroom. She was terrified. _Of me_. _Of what I might do._ She was expecting a smack. It was clear. And it made him sick. He lowered his hand, incredibly pained as he took one of hers into both of his. She remained frozen, still curled to herself. "Rachel," he whispered, his voice breaking, "look at me." He stood when she didn't move. "Sweetheart," he begged, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Please. Look at me."

"I'm …" Rachel paused, unable to help her shiver as Sam stroked her hand with his thumb. Her focus remained on the table. "I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Shh," Sam urged as he tenderly pulled her to face him, his face creased with worry. "Please. Look at me." Hesitantly, Rachel looked up and met his eyes; he gave her a tiny smile. "There she is." One of his hands shifted a little over hers. "It's okay. I'm _fine._ And I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "I'd _never_ hurt you." He slowly lifted it, cupping her cheek. Her face felt like it was on fire, her eyes brimmed with heavy tears. As his thumb stroked over her cheek, Sam noticed how Rachel was barely biting back their release. _Dammit, Dean,_ he thought for a brief moment as his brother's advice flickered through his mind. Dean was right. It was time to go for it. "Don't go," he urged. "Don't leave. Let me take care of you."

With sureness that enveloped her in safety, Sam drew Rachel to his chest in a tight, protective hug. As soon as her face pressed against his flannel shirt, he heard her burst into tears. His arms tightened around her, drawing her as close to himself as he could. She sobbed into his chest; the sound broke his heart. One arm keeping her close, the other hand sunk into her hair and stroked her head, holding it against his heart.

Rachel shook in his embrace, unable to rebuild the dam that Sam's kindness had broken. The day's whirlwind of emotions resulted in a turbulent storm of tears. Losing Alex, losing her home, her phone, and her car, and the confusing miracle of her eyesight was just the beginning. Adding in her undeniable chemistry with a stranger and that same stranger's perceptive son, then Ketch's weird vibe, and she was mentally spent. She clung to Sam's shirt, selfishly drinking in his safety as she allowed herself to release. The feel of the soft wash worn cotton under her fingertips was nearly blissful. His scent surrounded her, his strong, steady heartbeat drumming peace into her mind as she let the tears come.

Rachel's tears subsided after a while, reducing steadily until she was just sniffling against him. Sam kept her close, unwilling to let her go until she was ready. Even then, he didn't want to stop holding her. His fingers stroked through her hair, his breath steady and even. He relished how she felt against him, and the comfort he seemed to bring her.

As Rachel opened her mouth to apologize, Sam bent his head down and nuzzled her ear. "Don't you dare apologize," he whispered. He felt her draw in a shaky breath. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Okay?"

"Okay," Rachel replied, surprised at how he knew what she was going to say. "Thank you," she whispered.

Sam kept his lips close to her ear, unable to help but draw in her scent through a deep breath through his nose. "There's nothing to thank me for. You've been through more than is fair in the last twenty-four hours."

"I'm okay."

"You're not. And that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Rachel shook her head. "You don't … You don't need to worry about me too."

Sam's lips brushed through her hair. "I'm right here," he assured, holding her to himself as he felt her self-consciousness take over. "I'm not going anywhere. And you don't have to either. You belong here."

They stood in silence for a while more, neither daring to move. They each needed the other, both drawing in undeniable comfort from their embrace. Sam dug the pads of his fingertips against Rachel's scalp. His lips ghosted over the top of her hair, she pressing her cheek deeper against his chest.

Sam swallowed hard, his pulse climbing as he dared to plan his next move. He gently moved her head from his chest, cupping both sides of her face. He couldn't help but stare at her, her eyes sparkling even in the dim library light. Her skin was so warm and soft; his thumbs ran over her cheeks, his right daring to skim over her bottom lip. He leaned into her until their noses glided against each other, her warm breath coasting over his face as he tilted a little to the right.

As his lips brushed hers, Sam's cell phone lit in his pocket, the ringtone immediately slicing through the moment he shared with Rachel. He froze and tried his best to ignore it, but by the third ring, it was ruined. Slowly, he lowered his hands and parted from her, using his right one to fish out his phone. He didn't bother to look at the number before he jabbed the talk button, remaining close to Rachel. "What?" he growled, looking over Rachel's head as he ran his tongue behind his teeth.

"Glad you're awake, Sam," August said on the other end with a smirk audible in his tone.

Immediately, Sam stiffened, his breath quickening as his anger mounted. "How'd you get this number?"

Rachel's brow furrowed at Sam's darkened tone and rising irritation. She couldn't help but be curious as she stood near him, watching the conversation.

"Not gonna give away my secrets," August laughed. "Did you think your little threats scared me off?"

"No," Sam replied. "I knew you weren't smart enough to listen."

With a chuckle, August continued. "How is my little sister?" he asked. "Is she ready to come home?"

Nostrils flared, Sam's jaw ticked. "Her home has _never_ been, nor _ever will be_ with _you_."

Rachel's eyes rounded. _Her._ Was he talking about her? What other her would he be talking about? _His mother? One of the hunters?_

"It will be, very very soon."

"Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

Sam unconsciously grabbed Rachel's hand, which more than surprised her. "As I said before, you won't get anywhere near her," he reminded August. "And if you bother to try, you guarantee your death."

The fierce grip that Sam held her with made Rachel's stomach drop. _He is talking about me._ Who was threatening Sam about her? "Sam?" Rachel asked, immediately gaining his attention. Sam furiously shook his head at her, wordlessly begging her to remain quiet.

"Well, well, well," August smirked, hearing her. "If it isn't my little sister."

"I'm hanging up," Sam warned.

"What? You're not going to tell Rachel her big brother is on the phone?" August said loudly, loud enough that he knew Rachel would hear.

She did. Her eyes rounded. "August?"

August laughed; it made Sam's blood boil. "Put her on the phone, demon lover boy," he said in a lowered tone.

"Fuck you," Sam spat.

"Sam!" Rachel gasped. She didn't have a real relationship with August, but to hear a virtual stranger being so hostile with her family member was shocking. Rachel ripped her hand away from Sam's and backed away a bit, which instantly made him panic. "Let me talk to him. Now!"

Sam lowered the phone, partially covering the speaker with his chest. "Rachel—"

"Where the hell do you get off telling him to fuck off? Or threatening to kill him?!" Rachel snapped.

Sam's worst nightmare was unfolding at lightning speed and he couldn't seem to stop it. "You don't understand—"

"What don't I understand?!"

"He's manipulating you!"

"How?"

"He … He's … Rachel, he's—"

"Actually, Sam, I think you're the manipulator," Rachel replied with venom and realization. It all made sense. Her missing phone, her missing weapon, her missing car. Sam didn't save her. He had kidnapped her, then tried to fool her and seduce her. And she nearly fell for it. She quickly bent down and took out the gun from her bag, aiming it at Sam. "You shot Alex just so you could take me. You left me with nowhere to go and called it charity. You took my phone and my gun. The only manipulator is _you,_ Sam. Give me the phone. Now."

Pulse racing, Sam hesitated. There was no way he could explain things and expect her to believe it. "Rachel, just listen to me—"

Rachel cocked the gun. "No, _you_ listen to _me._ I said give me the phone. _Now._ "

Sam stared down the barrel of the gun, his stomach sick. "Sweetheart," he whispered, his eyes watering with tears. If he let her talk to him, she would disappear. He had no idea if she would actually shoot him, but being shot would be less painful than watching her be deceived.

"The phone," she barked. She lifted the gun a little through his hesitance.

Jaw tight, Sam slowly handed her the phone. His eyes shut when she swiped it angrily from him, his heart breaking as she put it to her ear. "August," Rachel said, her tone softer.

"Thank God," August sighed with fake relief, playing into the fight he overheard. "Rachel, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "I've got a gun on him."

"Good. Shoot him if he tries anything, you hear?"

Sam heard August, knowing he raised his voice on purpose. He grit his molars together as Rachel eyed him. "Don't worry, I will," she replied.

"We've been worried sick," August continued. "When we heard what happened with Alex, we looked everywhere for you."

"Alex …" Rachel swallowed hard as she looked at Sam. "Alex is dead."

August blew out a breath. "Dear God," he murmured. Then his voice shifted to a firmer, concerned tone. "Listen to me, sis: Come home."

"August—"

"Come home to _me_. Not to Dad. _Me._ I just want you to be safe. No judgment. Please, Rachel. I just want to make sure you're okay. Hunters can't be trusted. Especially not Sam Winchester. Alright?"

Rachel nodded. "... Alright."

Sam inched forward, readying to speak, devastated by her choice. Rachel didn't hesitate—she squeezed the trigger and fired a round into Sam's side. Sam fell to the ground, blood rushing from his wound. It soaked his shirt and pooled on the floor. He groaned, the blazing seer of the bullet incapacitating him long enough for Rachel to grab her bag and flee to the maps room for a set of car keys hanging from a panel. She had spotted them when Dean came home, a mental note she more than appreciated now.

"Rachel, please … don't … go ..." Sam begged, his voice hoarse as he tried to fight the pain of his wound. He failed, unable to get enough purchase to sit up. His breathing grew shaky, blood spilling unforgivingly from his side.

Still clutching Sam's phone, Rachel flew to the garage Robbie told her about and located her car. "Rachel," August said in the phone. "Are you alright?!"

Rachel tossed the weapon on the passenger seat and jammed their keys in the ignition. "I'm fine," she said as she sped out of the garage. "I'm heading east now."

"Where are you?"

"Lebanon, Kansas."

"Keep driving," August said with a slick smile and a chuckle he barely concealed. "I'm in Illinois. I'll see you soon."


	109. Chapter 108

A furious stampede flooded the library at the gunshot, Rick, Mary, Bobby, and Jack the first on the scene, just missing Rachel's hasty exit. "Sam!" Mary gasped, moving to her son's side. Her heart stopped at how pale he was. "Castiel!" she shouted, frantically looking around as she stripped her flannel shirt off and pressed it to Sam's wound.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked, his wrinkles more pronounced as he looked at the scene. The amount of blood Sam lost in a short time was frightening. Whoever had shot him had been very close to him.

"Rachel," Sam whispered to his mother, taking a raspy breath. "Find … her."

"Easy, son," Bobby urged as Sam coughed, a bit of blood sputtering from his lips. Bobby moved in next to Mary and helping to press against the wound.

Castiel flapped in, eyes wide as he saw the massive pool of blood and Sam's barely coherent look. "What happened?" he asked as he knelt beside Sam and touched his fingers to his forehead. He concentrated his power as Mary replied.

"We heard a gunshot," she answered, watching closely as Castiel slowly sealed the wound.

"Who shot him?"

"We don't know."

Bobby stood and moved back to where Rick and Jack were, observing as Sam's breath slowly became more even and less strained. "Easy," Mary ordered as Sam tried to sit up. He was still pale. "You've lost a lot of blood." She wiped the blood from his mouth.

"He should be feeling better in a few minutes," Castiel said, releasing his touch as he stood. He looked at the massive pool of blood, waving a hand over it and making it disappear.

"Don't have time," Sam growled as he sat up at a painfully slow pace.

"Sam!" Mary chided. "Rest!"

"Rachel's … in danger," Sam continued.

"Was she taken?" Jack asked.

"No. She shot me." Sam didn't concern himself with everyone's perplexed expressions as he gripped the desk next to him and pulled himself up with a loud groan. "She … She ran."

"Sam, you need to rest," Mary ordered.

"I can't let … him … get to her," Sam replied, hunched over as he felt the world spin around him.

"Who?" Castiel asked, readied to stabilize Sam if needed.

Sam didn't move, unable to straighten up. "August Lentz."

"Rachel's father?" Jack asked.

"Her brother," Sam corrected. He lifted himself up a little, beginning to feel remotely better. Pausing, he drew in a couple deep breaths. He looked to the others. "Her brother plans on using stored grace to reactivate Rachel, so he can use her as a miracle machine for his church. He's tricked her."

Castiel's chin lifted. "Her vessel … It can't handle another full extraction."

"Which is why I need to find her," Sam concluded. " _Now_."

The others looked around; a few more hunters had gathered, including Ketch, each not failing to notice Sam's bloodstained flannel shirt. "She has my cell," he remembered, taking a couple steps toward his laptop. Castiel caught him as he leaned too far to the right, holding him up as he stood at his side. "I can track her geolocation."

"Easy, Sam," he said, following as Sam proceeded toward his computer regardless of the warning.

Sam sat, groaning as he adjusted in his seat. He was relieved that he was healing with each passing minute, but he was still more than frustrated at the slowness he was subjected to. His fingers ran over the keyboard, his focus on the screen despite the many people murmuring around him. "She's headed east on 36," he said, standing as quickly as he could. He swiped his iPad from the shelf behind him, pulling up the geolocation on the screen. Thrusting the tablet at Castiel, he walked as quickly as he could manage through the parted crowd of hunters into the maps room. "Cas, you're with me."

"Sam," Mary urged, seeing her son hesitated, his back still to her. "How are you planning on bringing her back?"

He turned and looked at her. "I don't know. But if I don't, I lose her for good this time."

* * *

"So, why don't we just go?" Robbie asked impatiently as he sat in front of the campfire Dean made. It was dark around them except for the glow of the flames. "You know I can see in the dark, right?"

Dean tossed another few sizeable branches on the fire, coming to sit back in his seat. "Actually, I did _not_ know that. But listen, kid—we're in a prehistoric wonderland. And right now, daylight is our best bet." He looked Robbie over. "Did the library say anything about other angels in these planes?"

"They said it's possible but that no one really knows."

"Right. So, all the more reason we need daytime. Because if I have to light up some dicks, then I need to see them, preferably."

Robbie's brow wrinkled. "You think mom and me are dicks?"

"Hey," Dean said, holding up a hand. "Listen, first off, don't say that word. Because your dad would kill me. And second, no. You, your mom, Cas, and Jack are awesome. Unfortunately, some of your family members on that side aren't nearly as cool."

Drawing gouges in the dirt with a stick, Robbie sighed. "Mom was weird today," he said with pursed lips.

"How so?" Dean asked.

"She just … I mean, I know she's not _all_ my mom, but it still kinda hurt she didn't remember me."

Dean watched the boy, drawing in a deep breath. His heart went out to him, an ache resonating as he saw his nephew's pain. "Hey," he said gently, "come here." Robbie slowly made his way to his uncle, sitting beside him. His expression was unchanged despite Dean's comforting arm around his shoulder. "I can't imagine how hard this is for you," Dean began; he paused. "Actually, I can, in a way."

"Really?" Robbie looked up at him, still clutching the stick.

"Yeah. See, when Grandma came back, kinda like your mom did when you were born, it was hard. She didn't really know who we were, because we were grownups instead of little kids."

"What did you do?"

Dean drew in a breath. "We had to be patient," he answered, looking at the fire as he remembered the bitterness he felt. "She … She was overwhelmed, and needed time to think. It was hard, because we just got our mom back, and then she left." He then looked down at his nephew. "But you know what? We all made it. And we're all family. You'll make it through this too."

"What if we can't find Mom's soul?" Robbie asked, his voice soft with fear.

"That's not an option," Dean insisted.

"But what if we _can't_?" Robbie argued. "Then what?"

Feeling lost for advice, Dean sunk his hand into Robbie's hair, massaging his scalp. "I don't know, buddy. But I know I'm not leaving this weird ass Jurassic Park without it, if I can help it."

Robbie leaned his head against Dean's arm, rolling the stick between his fingers. "Did you _really_ see dinosaurs, Uncle Dean?"

"Yep. And a woolly mammoth."

"Are they friendly?"

"Hell if I know. You're the smartest one in the family."

Robbie shrugged. "I guess I can just blast it if it's not."

"You just save up that energy, Rocky," Dean insisted, still rubbing his nephew's head. "We've got quite a few rounds to go yet."

"Who's Rocky?" Robbie asked, looking at him.

Dean scoffed. "Are you kidding? Doesn't your dad teach you anything?"

"Well, he taught me about Gandhi."

"Of course he did." Dean groaned. "Listen, when we get home, we're having a movie marathon, alright?"

"With popcorn," Robbie specified, resting his head back down and focusing on the fire.

"Is there any other way?"

They were quiet for a long moment. "Uncle Dean?" Robbie finally asked.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Why don't you get married?"

Dean nearly choked on his own saliva. "Well," he said after a moment, "that would mean I'd need a girlfriend."

"Oh. What about that girl on your laptop?"

Dean's pulse stopped. "What … girl … on my laptop?"

"The one on the website for Busty Asian Beauties," Robbie answered, completely unaware of Dean's panic. "I saw her one time when I used it to go on the internet. She was pretty."

After the initial shock wore off, Dean couldn't help but suppress a laugh, as well as still panic. "How much did you see?" he asked, both terrified and trying to hold it together.

"Just that one magazine cover picture. Girls are weird, so I ignored it."

"Yeah," Dean nodded vigorously. "Let's stick with that."

"So you don't like her anymore?"

"Well …" Clearing his throat, Dean exhaled. "Listen, it … it won't work between us."

"Oh."

Dean saw Robbie's sullen expression. "What's on your mind, little man?"

Robbie shrugged. "I just want other kids to play with, you know? It's kinda boring at home." He snuggled closer to Dean. "I asked Dad if he and mom were gonna have more kids, but he said 'not now.' I don't know why."

"Well," Dean said slowly, "there's a lot going on right now. And … I know your dad would love to have more, but it's not a good time."

"Yeah, but now with Mom being weird, I'll _never_ have a little brother."

Dean looked at Robbie, seeing his pain. If Rachel were restored, would Sam dare to risk her like that for another child? Would she risk herself? They had her grace they could administer to help her through labor. He knew Robbie had been conceived despite using protection, so the odds were still there, so long as Sam and Rachel were together. "Even if you don't," Dean said, "we are all incredibly lucky to have you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Robbie shrugged, more than noncommittal.

Deciding to let it die, Dean drew Robbie as close as he could. He thought about his relationship with Sam-how when he was Robbie's age, it was a struggle to see his brother beyond a responsibility. He and Sam certainly had their ups and downs, but he couldn't imagine his life without him. There were times that he had to live life without him, and it killed him. Now, he was gifted a sister through Rachel, and a nephew, both who he loved with everything he had in him. And as much as he loved them, he knew Sam loved them even more fiercely. It had to be killing him to have both gone in their own way.

Looking out into the darkness, Dean sighed. The sooner they found Rachel's soul, the better.

* * *

Sam knuckles whitened as he clenched the Impala's wheel, pushing the car to over eighty miles per hour. Rachel had not only gained a time advantage through shooting him, but with the open country roads no one else seemed to be on. "How far?" he asked Castiel, who sat in the passenger seat.

Castiel kept his focus on the tablet in his hands. "Two point three seven miles."

"Is she still moving?"

"I'm … I'm not sure."

Sam flicked his eyes to the tracker, his brow wrinkling. "She isn't," he murmured. He gunned it even more, hopeful she had pulled over and was reconsidering everything. It was all he had to hold on to.

Two and a third miles came quickly. Sam slowed the Impala down in the shoulder, parking it and turning off the engine. He exited, looking out into the black night around him. With a click of a button, his Maglite beam sliced through the darkness, aiding him. There was nothing around—certainly no cars. _That's because she ditched my phone_. "Fuck!" Sam yelled, smacking the hood of the Impala. "Cas," he barked as the angel hesitantly approached, "call my cell."

Within a ring or two, a chirping was heard in tall grass that lined the road. Sam followed it until he found his phone. He picked it up with a scowl, his eyes shutting. She was smart. She knew he'd be tracking all of the hunters phones, including his own. "Dammit!" he growled, declining the call Castiel made. He paused, seeing an open note on the screen:

 _ **Don't try to follow me, if you're even still alive. And if I see you again, I'll be sure to kill you then.**_

Sam stared at the note, stomach sick. Without her soul, she was a virtual stranger. And she believed him to be some sort of sick and twisted kidnapper. His hand tightened around his phone, tears forming as he considered his options. "Cas," he said, much softer, "can you … is there any way she's on angel radio?"

Castiel drew in a breath. "It's highly unlikely. I made sure her grace was drained." He saw Sam's distraught face and added, "But I will check. Wait here."

Sam saw Castiel disappear into the darkness, knowing the angel would better access the radio without his stress so close. He went back into the Impala and shut the door, sighing. _If August got my number, he must have contacted someone. But who? Who would snitch?_ His eyes widened at his first though. _Ketch? Would he …? Why would he?_ Sam shook his head. _Doesn't make sense. He has nothing to gain from it. Who else would have given him my number?_

Wracking his brain, Sam finally came up with a possibility. A frightening one at best. Much like Vance Matthews had been paid off for his services when they first met, another hunter he worked with previously could've been as well. There was no way to narrow it down. Both Rachel and his son were valuable, and no matter what he did, there was always someone willing to pay for that knowledge.

Sam continued to stare at the steering wheel as Castiel flapped back into the car. "I don't have any reads on her personally, but I did hear some blips about Robbie," he said, examining Sam.

"What about him?" Sam asked, brow arched.

"His use of power. Which I'm assuming is from transporting himself and Dean to the alternate plane."

Sam's heart stopped. "Are they in danger, Cas?"

"Not as far as I can tell. There's no other angels that can manifest themselves there, to my knowledge."

With a nod, Sam drew in a deep breath. "So … now what?" he asked, more to himself than to Castiel.

"It's difficult to say, Sam," Castiel replied.

Sam tapped the steering wheel in thought. "I'm wondering if the police will help us," he murmured.

"How so?"

"If I can give them a plate, they can help me track the car."

"Do you remember the plate number?"

Sam squinted, then sighed. "Only part of it."

"If they have the plate, won't they figure out its registration is expired? Then won't they have the location of the bunker?"

"What other option do I have?" Sam demanded, his stress managing to lash out at Castiel. He paused, shutting his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just … I don't have many options left." Forcing back his tears, he drew in a cleansing breath. Then it hit him. "Rowena," he murmured.

"A spell," Castiel concluded with a soft nod.

"A tracking spell." Sam turned the key in the ignition and spun out of the shoulder, barreling back toward the bunker. He quickly dialed Rowena's cell, pressing his phone to his ear as he waited.

"Samuel Winchester," Rowena answered after a few rings. "Fancy hearing from you. You must be in a bind."

"I am," Sam admitted, his stomach sick over the timing. "Rowena, I need instructions for a tracking spell. Like what you used for Gabriel and Rachel."

"Who's missing?"

"... Rachel."

Rowena sighed. "And what has befallen the lass now? She surely has the Winchester luck, doesn't she?"

"Time is of the essence," Sam said, knowing his voice was a bit stiff. He was unable to help the guilt Rowena's dig stirred in him. "Her soul is on the line."

Rowena was quiet for a moment. "In that case, I'll be at the bunker in just a few."

She hung up before Sam could thank her. "What did she say?" Castiel asked.

"She's coming to the bunker," Sam replied. He swallowed hard, his nerves shot. If they didn't locate her soon, there was a strong possibility of August changing Rachel for good. And if that happened, she would never be able to revert. All he could do was pray he'd make it to her in time.


	110. Chapter 109

Sam entered the bunker to see Rowena waiting in the maps room next to Mary and Jack with an arched brow. "Your mother brought me up to speed," she said as Sam and Castiel descended the stairs. "You might've said a bit more regarding the situation. It won't be as simple as before."

"Why?" Sam asked, immediately bristling at the idea of Rowena's power being insufficient.

"Her vessel has been through quite a bit," Rowena explained as Sam stopped in front of her. Her brow arched as she looked at Sam's bloodied shirt. "As has yours, I take it."

"Why won't it be like before?" Sam asked.

"Because there's a new soul involved." Rowena sighed, her expression softening. "Sam, there's very little of her original essence left to track."

"So track the new one."

"It would be that simple, wouldn't it? Only, I know nothing of this new essence. Do you?"

Sam paused, wetting his lips. "It's … It's who she was before she met me."

"No, Samuel," Rowena said, shaking her head. "That's not how soul restoration works. It's not merely just memories stripped, but ideas, opinions, conscious … all of the things that make a human individual. It's nearly like receiving a new set of fingerprints. For all we know, this version of Rachel may never become a hunter. She may never marry … or even prefer men, for that matter. It's a new identity."

"But her story is the same," Sam argued.

"The one part is. The rest is very much unwritten. And there's a different author now."

Sam's jaw ticked as he turned away, trying to control his anger. "So how do we track it?" he asked quietly, fixing his eyes on the wall ahead of him. His fingers curled up at his sides.

"We can start with what we know," Rowena replied. "It could take longer, since there is less essence. But it's a beginning."

With a nod, Sam looked down at Rowena. "Please," he said, a stiffness still present in his tone.

Rowena gave him a nod back, then turned to Jack. "Come, Jack," she said with a smile. "We need ingredients."

"I'll help," Castiel offered, following Rowena and Jack to the archives.

Mary remained, seeing Sam's silent struggle. She moved to him, taking his hand. "We'll do everything we can," she urged gently. Her expression slowly shifted, recognizing the way Sam looked. "Sam. We _will_ find her."

"Should we …" Sam stopped, swallowing hard as he kept his tears at bay. "Should we … When we find her, should we … let her go?"

Mary knew Sam was considering something drastic, but not that. "Sam—-"

"Think about it," he interrupted, looking down at her. " _I_ did this to her. If she left tonight without me interfering, she would've dropped off August's radar. He wouldn't have tracked her so easily without her fear driving her right toward him."

"Sam, Dean and Robbie are after her soul _right now_ , and—"

"And maybe that was a huge mistake," Sam countered. "Just because Chuck said souls can't be destroyed doesn't mean hers will be found. So, what if they're out there on some kind of pointless mission, and the real decision that needs to be made is to destroy her grace and let her choose her life path with a new soul?" Mary was silent for a long moment. "Mom," Sam said, a quiver in his voice, "I love _my_ Rachel more than life itself. But this isn't _her._ And I don't have a right to decide who she will become, if her soul can't be found."

"Could you let her go?" Mary asked, stepping closer. His eyes shut. "Could you truly just let her walk away? Even if she never wanted to see you or Robbie again?"

Sam shook his head, silent as tears glistened his eyes. "I already lost her, Mom," he whispered. He sniffed. "This Rachel isn't mine. I don't have a right to take away her life and her choices."

"Then Robbie and Dean are there for no reason," his mother countered.

"Maybe." He searched her eyes. "When you came back, you didn't come back as the person Dean knew. You came back as someone independent of it. You had no relationship to us as adults. And it was your choice to stay. And even you struggled with it. There's no difference. Just because I knew Rachel as my future wife doesn't mean she will be now. And I don't have the right to tamper with her new life."

"Sam, Rachel only gave herself up to protect you and Robbie, and others. She didn't do it to live another life. She was faced with an impossible decision. You're faced with a very possible one. One that will give back what you _both_ lost."

"What if she has a chance to be safe?" he countered. "What if by not being involved with me, not being _her_ , she isn't any longer hunted?"

"You know that wouldn't change anything," Mary corrected. "For as long as her vessel is alive, whether you restore her or not, someone will use her against you. Because they know you love her. Even if she's not fully herself." She took Sam's hand as he went to object. "Sam. Listen to me. Have faith. We will bring her through this."

With a nod, Sam looked up toward the hall. "I'm gonna, uh, take a shower," he decided.

As he walked away, Mary stopped him with a question. "Not trying to fool me like last time, are you?"

Shaking his head, Sam gave her a sad smile. "No. I promise."

As he headed to the bathroom, Sam took out his phone, staring down at it. He knew August would lie to him, but he couldn't help but want to know if Rachel was with him. After he stripped his flannel shirt and tee shirt off, he redialed August's number and waited. As the line was picked up, before August could speak, Sam said, "Let me talk to her."

"I knew you'd eventually call," August smiled when he answered. "You're a predictable man, Sam Winchester. You must really love her, huh?"

"Let me talk to her," Sam demanded. It only made August laugh.

"Sure, sure I'll do that. When she's no longer Rachel and doesn't give a damn about you."

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice broken as he grabbed at his hair, pained. "Why do this to her?"

"I'm merely helping her fulfill her destiny," August shrugged. "It took me a while to track down her grace. I'm not wasting all that time by letting her go now."

"She had a life—a _good_ life—away from you."

"You say that like I care."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Whatever it is you want, you can have it. What is it? Money? I'll give you money. Just … please. Let her come home."

"Nice try. I highly doubt you've got nearly a fifth of what I'd make off of her powers in just a week."

Hot tears streamed down Sam's cheeks. "When I find you," he warned, his tone bitter cold, "you'll wish you were never born."

"Idle threats, Sam. Because I'll be the only thing keeping her safe, and you know that." August grinned. "Even if she's not _yours,_ I'm sure there is very little you wouldn't do for her. If anything. Even if that means keeping her with me to keep her alive."

"I swear to God," Sam snarled, "you'll regret this."

"Unlikely. But I'm looking forward to seeing you soon."

The line went dead, and Sam shut his eyes. He violently threw his phone onto the bathroom counter, his hands clutching the edge with a lethal grip. He knew the phone call was a mistake, but he just couldn't stop himself. He was more than desperate, more than defeated. All he wanted was her home, safe with him. Even if she didn't love him anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of any version of her being abused. For a moment, he considered sending up a prayer. Then he remembered the radio silence he received when Rachel was readying to sacrifice herself. His stomach bottomed out, failure consuming him. Rowena had to make something work. It was his last hope at keeping his dream alive.

* * *

Dean's eyes flashed open. Darkness surrounded them, odd sounds peppering the black night as they slept. Or tried to. He wasn't woken by them, though. Instead, it was his small nephew's whimpered moan and steadily building thrashing that drew him from his sleep. Dean blinked a few times to adjust his sight, seeing Robbie curled up next to him. The boy was still sleeping but struggling, his brow wrinkled as he fought against something in his dream. "Hey," Dean whispered, stroking Robbie's head. It didn't rouse him. "Hey, buddy. Come on. Wake up."

Robbie bolted up from his sleep, his breath choppy as he tried to readjust himself into his surroundings. "Easy," Dean said tenderly, brushing some sweat slicked locks from the boy's forehead. "You're alright."

"Uncle Dean?" Robbie whispered, still looking straight at the darkened forest around them.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Is Dad bad?"

Dean's face wrinkled. He picked up Robbie and put him on his lap. "Why would you think he's bad?" he asked softly.

"Because he's Lucifer's true vessel," Robbie said. He looked into Dean's eyes. "I dreamed about it. He is bad, isn't he?"

The question came what seemed like out of left field. "Robbie—"

"Is he bad?" Robbie asked again, a hardened look washing over his features.

"No," Dean replied with gentle firmness. "Your dad is the best man I know, aside from you. He never stops choosing or seeing the good. Even when it hurts him."

"But he has to choose it," Robbie countered. "Being good isn't just something he is."

"Everyone has to choose right from wrong."

"But not like Dad and me."

"Robbie—"

"It's not," Robbie argued. "It's not like that for us. And maybe it's harder for Dad because he doesn't have grace." He paused. "And if you think angels are dicks, then you must think we are worse than dicks."

Dean's lips parted. "Robbie, I don't think that."

"Yes you do."

"It's not the same with you, or your mom—"

The boy eyed him. "I heard you, you know. Before I was born. You hate angels and demons but that's who we are."

"You're not _just_ that," Dean replied. "You're so much more than that. Your dad, your mom … they fight every day to choose good. And there's a whole lot of people without demon blood or wings who don't. _That_ is what makes them who they are. It's what makes _you_ who you are."

Robbie stared at the ground for a minute. "Would you hurt Dad if he was Lucifer? 'Cause he was supposed to be." He looked up at Dean. "Or if Mom was Michael? 'Cause she's his niece. Would you believe that we are good then?"

A chill ran down Dean's spine, the depth of the conversation taking its toll. "Listen to me," he said with a tenderness that seemed to comfort the boy, "no matter what, I'd never hurt your dad. Or your mom. You _are good._ You _all_ are good. Okay?" Robbie hesitated, then nodded. "Atta boy," Dean said, holding him to his chest.

"Uncle Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I'm hungry."

Dean blew out a breath. He had packed rations for two humans, forgetting the boy's DNA made his metabolism drive at an insanely high rate. "I'm sorry, kid. You gotta wait until morning. Maybe we can find something to eat with the jerky, huh?" He patted Robbie's upper back. "Get some sleep."

Robbie sighed, staring out into the night beyond his uncle's body, unconvinced and stomach growling. What he saw wasn't just a dream. There was darkness still to come in their lives, and he was scared it was because of him.

* * *

Early the next morning, Rachel slowed the car down into a Walmart parking lot, taking a deep breath as she shut off the ignition. She was starving and exhausted, but desperate to get back on the road. Now at the border to Illinois, she couldn't go further without knowing where August was.

She chanted the phone number August called from that she memorized in her head as she wove through the nearly empty store toward the electronics, where she spotted cheap pay as you go phones. She picked up a package, barely giving the contents a second glance as she made her way to the counter.

"Burner phone," the girl nodded with a pop of her gum as she scanned it.

Rachel's brow wrinkled. "It's not."

"Uh huh. That's what they all say."

"Mine … I lost it."

"Sure. Fifty-two seventeen."

"I did."

"Yep. Fifty-two seventeen."

Rachel looked at the girl, perplexed. She handed her three twenty dollar bills, watching as the girl cracked her gum and rang it up. "Here you go," the girl said, handing her the proper change and a bag with her phone. "Good luck."

A bag of jerky, a couple caffeinated sodas, and a new phone later, Rachel sat in her car and locked the doors. She quickly set up her phone and dialed August's number, waiting through five rings before he answered. "Who is this?" he asked with a grit to his tone.

"August, it's me," Rachel said softly, worried over the gruffness she heard from him. Had she made the wrong choice?

"Rachel," August sighed, his voice shifting. It relieved her. "Where have you been?"

"He was tracking all their phones, so I ditched it."

"Smart girl. Though, he apparently survived your gunshot and found the phone."

Rachel's lips parted. "He did? How?"

"Not sure. He's a crafty bastard." August exhaled. "Where are you?"

"I'm just outside of St. Louis. At the Walmart off of 70 east."

"Perfect. Wait there for me. I'm about two hours away."

"I can drive to you," Rachel offered.

"No," August snipped, which surprised her. "Park around toward the back and wait there. I'll send some friends ahead to keep you safe."

Rachel's stomach knotted, a strange hesitance overwhelming her. "Friends?"

August shifted his tone, giving her a small laugh. "Don't worry. I just don't want you to be unprotected. They'll be there shortly."

"How will they—"

"Rachel," August chided, "just relax. Everything will be fine, okay?"

Rachel gulped, her nerves still more than flared. "Okay," she managed.

"Good. See you soon."

As she hung up, Rachel stared out into the parking lot ahead of her through the windshield. August just wanted her to be safe. It was more than a sensible thing. She moved the car to a secluded place in the lot, one with less visibility than before, putting it into park and shutting it off. _Why would his friends arrive before him?_ It seemed like a dumb question, considering she just nearly was fooled by a hunter.

 _Sam._ She left him for dead. How was he _not_ dead? And why couldn't she stop thinking about him? Nearly eight hours on the road, and she couldn't help but replay his desperate pleas to her over and over in her mind. Not to mention how she couldn't help but feel the brush of his soft lips against hers, and the electricity they shared still running through her veins. If she had listened to his side, what would he have said? She knew Sam was more than capable of snuffing out life, but he had been nothing but tender with her. Protective. As if he knew something more, and wanted to keep her safe ... _Focus._ She couldn't afford to be distracted by his good looks, his gentle touch, or his sad story. She had to get him out of her mind. That's how she got here in the first place.

No more than ten minutes later, a black sedan pulled up next to her car. Rachel's fingers unconsciously dug into her jeans as she watched two men exit the car, her insides twisting as she looked at them. Their gazes were hard, their demeanors not what she'd associate with August. Rachel glanced at the gun on the passenger seat, wetting her lips.

"Rachel," one said, his palm flat against her window. She jumped as she looked back at him, her heart failing to slow as he smiled. "It's okay. August sent us." Lips parting, she watched as the man backed away. "Come on," he urged. "You're safe with us."

Something deep within her screamed to leave, to drive away and never look back. She couldn't fight the tremble her emotions caused. The second man's palm smacked the passenger window, which made Rachel gasp. "Come on, Rachel," the second man said with a lopsided grin. "We'll keep you safe."

 _Run._ She didn't know why she was convinced she had to, but she wasn't going to argue with her gut. With a shaky hand, Rachel twisted the key into the ignition and started her car. She went to put it in reverse, her mouth dropping open as everything died in it. The car fell silent, the engine and battery stopping immediately. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" the first man asked as she panicked. He sidled up to the drivers side with a smirk. "Don't worry, we'll give you a ride, baby."

The second man laughed as Rachel repeatedly tried to reignite the car. "She's so cute," he chuckled.

"She looks soft too, doesn't she?" the other asked.

"Oh yeah," the second man nodded, wetting his lips. "Nice and warm."

Rachel grabbed the gun, waving it between the two. "Don't," she warned, trying to bury the fear in her voice.

Both men snickered. "Aww, she's adorable," the second one said.

"Come on, baby," the first said, "don't keep us waiting."

Before Rachel knew how, the door next to he flew open. She gasped, eyes wide as she saw the first man approach. She aimed and fired at the man's chest, hitting his shoulder. No blood spilled from the wound. Her heart stopped; she fired another shot, but nothing happened. The man grabbed her by the neck and ripped her from her seat, holding her feet off the ground as he examined her. Her gun fell to the ground as she struggled to breathe. "You're lucky we've got orders to follow," he smiled, running his tongue over his lips as she kicked in the air. "Because if we didn't, oh we'd have fun with you."

"We sure would," the second man agreed. He covered Rachel's mouth, silencing her from the inside as she went to scream. "Shhh," he urged with a whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, everything will be just fine."

Tears formed in her eyes, her shocked gasp stolen from her as their eyes flashed solid black. She pawed clumsily at the demon's grip, failing miserably to free herself. "Wait," the first demon said, a look of surprise crossing his features as his eyes returned to their normal hue. "I'll be damned," he muttered with a growing grin.

"What is it?" the second asked, his eyes flicking back to normal.

"This isn't just any little bitch. This is Sam Winchester's baby mama."

The second demon eyed her, then appeared just as shocked. "Well, well, well," he smirked. "We just got really lucky."

"Hell yeah we did," the first snickered.

Rachel's silent panicking was halted briefly by their admission. _What? What the hell are they talking about?_ Were they mistaking her for Sam's dead fiancée?

"Oooh boy. Hey," the first demon said to the other, "I say we ditch August and get her listed on the market."

"Sounds perfect to me," the second demon replied.

As bits of white leaked into her vision from the severely shortened oxygen supply, Rachel tried to scream, endless attempts coming out as raspy puffs of air. She kicked and thrashed as much as she could in their iron hold, but her fight slowly died, ending as she passed out into the demon's arms.


	111. Chapter 110

**Thanks for the reviews and reads! If you like (or don't like) what you're reading, leave me a review! Let me know if you've got theories, etc. I love hearing feedback! Have a great holiday weekend (if you celebrate). :)**

* * *

Robbie shoved at Dean's arm, rousing the built hunter from his sleep early that's next morning. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Five more minutes."

"No, now," Robbie insisted, looking more than awake as he popped a few berries in his mouth.

"Where'd you get those?"

Robbie shrugged, though seeming impatient. "Over there. Come on. Hurry up."

Dean yawned with a heavy groan, sitting up as he blinked his eyes open. He hadn't slept well at all. Being in an entirely different world, mixed with his worries about keeping Robbie safe, then Robbie's nightmare—it was all enough to leave him more than on edge. "Alright, kid," Dean said, slowly standing. "Let me take a leak. Stay there. Don't move."

Wandering off a bit toward the denser part of the forest, Dean found a spot and unzipped his fly. As he relieved himself, he glanced around. He still felt edgy, unable to quell the fear the apparent Garden left him with. It'd be unlike anything he had ever faced before.

As he finished and zipped his pants, he heard a few sticks cracking ahead. Defense triggered, he darted back to the camp, stomach sinking when he didn't see Robbie. Dean whipped out his gun, scanning the perimeter as he tried to look for signs of the boy.

Dean whirled around, cocking and aiming his gun behind himself as he heard something approach. He blew out a breath as Robbie looked at him from the other end of his gun. "It's just me," the boy said, shrugging as he moved back to the camp.

"I told you to stay put _,_ " Dean growled, uncocking his weapon and stowing it. "I could've shot you!" He watched as the boy went about eating his handful of berries, unfazed. "Robert," Dean barked, gaining the boy's attention. "I told you to _stay_ _put_ ," he reminded coolly.

"Whatever. I was hungry," Robbie reasoned with a scoff, seemingly unconcerned and a bit annoyed. "And I'm like super powerful. I can take care of myself."

Dean was stunned by the boy's attitude. It wasn't like him at all. "I don't care," Dean replied. "When I tell you to stay, you stay."

"You're not my dad," Robbie reminded him with a narrowed look.

Taken aback, Dean looked around, his hands finding his hips. "Excuse me?"

"You're not. So, whatever."

Dean's jaw tightened. He readied to reply when he saw Robbie polishing off another fistful of berries. "Where'd you get those?" he asked again, the image of them triggering something deep within his brain.

"Over _there_ , like I said," Robbie sighed, rolling his eyes as he pointed. As the boy went to eat another, Dean slapped it out of his hand. "Hey! What's wrong with you?" Robbie yelled.

"How many did you eat before you woke me up?"

"I don't know," Robbie shrugged. "Like, five handfuls? Why?"

"Shit, shit, shit!" Dean grabbed Robbie's palm and emptied it, crushing the fallen berries under his boot. "Stop eating those," he warned.

"Hey! I'm hungry!"

"They're poison, Robbie!" Dean wiped off the remaining juices from his nephew's palm. "They're beushim berries. I remember reading about them. They change your behavior and make you stuff yourself until you die. It's written about in the shit your dad made me read when we were looking for the Seal of Solomon."

Robbie wrinkled his nose; his stomach punctuated his look with a monstrous growl. "I'm so hungry!" he whined.

"No more berries," Dean ordered with a stern look. "I mean it. Eat the jerky I packed."

"I'm tired of jerky!"

"No. Berries."

Robbie flopped down onto the ground with an exasperated huff, groaning. "You're so annoying!" he wailed.

"Me? You're the one acting like a dou—" Dean paused, clearing his throat. "Like a dork," he finished.

"You were going to say _douche_ ," Robbie said with a smirk, dragging out the word.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to be nice. But right now you're loaded on hallucinogenic berries, so I'm debating on whether I need to."

"I'm not hallucinating," Robbie shot back, sticking his tongue out.

Dean groaned. "Come on," he grumbled, pulling Robbie up to stand. Without Robbie's normal personality and focus, the child was merely a burden he'd have to ride out until the problem solved itself. _Which could be all day._ He kept hold of Robbie's sleeve as he slung his pack over his shoulder.

"Let go!" Robbie whined, dragging his feet as he followed.

Dean ignored him, unable to help rolling his eyes. "Perfect," he muttered, slowly pulling Robbie with his left hand as he beat the thick brush they walked through down with his machete in his right hand. "We're in the frickin' Garden of Eden, probably infested with dickhead angels, and you lost your melon over some berries."

"It's not like we're gonna find Mom's soul anyway," Robbie spat.

Pausing, Dean turned to his nephew. He saw the cool darkness of his look, which nearly mirrored Sam's when he was on demon blood. "Oh yeah?" Dean challenged, though his gut was twinged with a bit of fear and dread over the shift in Robbie. "And why's that?"

"Mom is an archangel. You know how powerful her soul is?" Robbie scoffed. "Souls are weapons. And except for mine, it's like the best one out there. Though mine's _way_ better."

Dean's stomach twisted. Even though Robbie's normal sweetness was tainted, what he said was a cold, harsh reality no one really wanted to face. Robbie gave him a hard glare. "We probably won't find it," Robbie continued.

"I'd like to believe it isn't a lost cause," Dean objected, still knowing what Robbie said was the likely truth.

Robbie laughed. "Then you're dumb."

"Oh yeah? So why did you come here, then?" Dean challenged, part of him refusing to believe he was really conversing with his nephew. It had to be the berries.

"To grow! Duh!" Robbie shook his head. "Dad wouldn't let me grow otherwise. So, now I can. And I will. And he can't stop me. Neither can you."

With a heavy heart, Dean let Robbie's jacket go, freeing him. "You're right," he said with a solemn look, distracting Robbie as he expertly lodged his machete into the dirt next to them. Meanwhile, his other hand slyly fished in his jean pocket. "I can't stop you."

Robbie broke out into a smile, a Cheshire grin that made Dean sick. This wasn't his nephew. Before Robbie could reply, Dean slapped the set of angel cuffs he packed on the boy, squeezing them as tight as they would go. "Hey!" Robbie squealed, stunned as he looked up at Dean. His power was quelled, the boy's inhuman strength reduced to that of an average child.

" _I_ can't stop you," Dean continued, gripping the cuffs, "but these can."

"So not cool!" Robbie growled.

"Yeah, well, I can't always be the cool uncle. This is just until those damn berries make their way out and you're back to normal." Dean yanked his machete from the dirt and continued their journey forward, gripping Robbie by the cuffs as he led him.

"Yeah, and I guess you think Dad isn't himself when he's on demon blood, huh?" Robbie taunted behind him. "Maybe we _are_ like this and you just don't want to believe it!"

"This isn't you, Kid," Dean replied, his focus on the forest ahead of them as they trekked down the slope. "And I'm about to gag you if you keep it up."

"It _is_! We're monsters, right Uncle Dean?" Robbie challenged. "That's all you ever thought Dad was when he was just being himself!"

"Get out of my head, Robbie," Dean warned, stiffening as he walked. He slashed unnecessarily hard at bushes and shrubs as Robbie continued.

"You can't stand us," Robbie said with a dark grin. "You can't stand who we are. We have demon blood in us. You think it's disgusting. And you think Mom is too good for Dad and that he doesn't deserve her."

"Shut up, Robbie. I mean it."

"Why? It's all the truth. You're just like Chuck. He didn't want Adam and Eve to be smart either. He wanted them to just be like dumb little kids. You'd rather me be dumb kid than know things, right Uncle Dean? Because if I don't know things, then you don't have to think about them, or face them."

Dean whirled around, seething as he looked down at the boy. "Alright, listen to me—I've had enough of you being a dick. So you either shut the hell up, or get gagged. Your choice."

A loud whoosh billowed overhead; Dean crouched down, dragging Robbie with him. "Shut it," Dean warned in a harsh whisper. He waited, listening to the powerful flap of wings above him, his pulse still racing from Robbie's callous words. A piercing cry rang through the trees, seeming to bounce off the rocks around them and reverberate into the forest.

"It's a dinosaur," Robbie said matter of factly.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean shot back in a hushed tone. "I just don't know if it's a carnivore or not."

"If you let me get up, I can see."

"Hah. Fat chance."

"Ugh! You're so annoying!"

Dean scoffed. " _I'm_ annoying?" He shook his head. "Damn beushim berries," he added with a grumble. "Can't wait until you shit them out."

A few moments later, the forest was once again relatively quiet. Dean stood, pulling Robbie up with him. "Alright," he said, his tone still lower out of caution, "you feel any weird vibes or whatever that could be your mom's soul?"

"No," Robbie replied flatly. "It's probably not even here. She was on a beach, remember?"

Dean grit his teeth, trying to find patience for the less than personable version of his nephew. He whacked at the plants with his machete, mumbling under his breath as he imitated Robbie with a scowl.

They walked a while, finally coming to a clearing. Dean held on to Robbie by the cuffs as he took a look around. "Alright," he said with a sigh, "let's—" He paused as a ringing sound crept over the space. "What was that?" he asked.

"That's angel juice," Robbie replied softly.

The ringing grew louder with each second until it was incessant and violent. Dean cowered against the onslaught, trying to cover his ears with one hand as he gripped Robbie's cuffs. It seemed to bore into his skull, his very bones nearly pained with the tone.

With a blast of blue, a giant bright ripple extended outward, punctuating the final charge of the sound. Dean covered part of his face as the light wave rolled over him and burst into nothingness. He panted, trying to regain his senses as the sounds around him slowly returned. His head hurt less, though the pain was still very much there. "What were they doing with the juice?" he managed to ask Robbie in a whisper as he stood.

The boy was entirely unaffected, but his eyes were focused on the tree trunk ahead of him. "They found us," he said, looking up at him.

"They who?"

"The Guardians. They're coming now."

"Shit!" Dean whipped out his angel blade, furiously scanning the forest.

"You gotta let me out of the cuffs!" Robbie urged.

"You ain't you, kid," Dean replied, on high alert as he surveyed his surroundings.

"You're gonna die! You can't take them with one blade!"

Glancing down to Robbie, Dean's brow wrinkled as he struggled with his choice. He shut his eyes and fished out the key, quickly unlocking him. Robbie sighed in relief as he rubbed his wrists. Dean stowed the cuffs, eyeing him. "Don't you go rogue on me," he warned.

"I know, I know," Robbie muttered with a sigh.

"I mean it!"

"I _won't._ I thought you trusted me, remember?"

"I trust Robbie Without Berries," Dean shot back.

"Well, you've gotta trust Robbie With Berries too."

"Fine. I do." Dean drew in a sharp breath. "But I swear, if you ever eat any more beushim berries, I'll kick your ass."

No more than five seconds later, five guardian angels surrounded them, each dressed in all steel gray ensembles. The one in front of Dean stepped forward with a narrowed look; Dean kept Robbie close, raising his blade. "Dean Winchester," the angel said, her brown eyes focused on him. Her cropped brown bob rocked gently with the breeze. "And young Robert Winchester," she added, smiling a little. "Why are you here?"

"None of your business," Dean replied.

The angel's smile widened. "Actually, as a Guardian, it's entirely my business."

"I'm not in the mood to share."

Shaking her head, the angel stepped closer. Dean raised his blade higher. "We've no intention to harm you."

"Yeah right."

"On this plane, we believe in peace. A concept your kind has yet to grasp on your earth."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "and you get that peace by killing people who don't do what you want."

"Every world needs order and protocol, wouldn't you agree?" The angel smiled at Robbie. "You're quite the special boy. Tell me, is your mother's soul worth the risk of death?"

Robbie shrugged. "I didn't come here for that. I just came to grow. So you can keep it if you have it."

"What the hell, kid?" Dean hissed.

"We do have it," the angel replied to Robbie.

"Oh. Well, you can do whatever you want with it. I just wanna see what I can do. Bet I could blast a mountain to dust or something."

Smile widening, the angel nodded. "Oh, you're capable of much more than that, Robbie. I'm certain the Guardians could hone your skills quite well. After all, we are family."

"No one's honing anything," Dean snapped. "And you dicks _aren't_ his family."

"Your grandmother was our ruler," the angel continued to Robbie. "It's in your blood. _We_ are your blood." Her eyes flicked to Dean. "And we won't cuff you or make you wonder if we trust you."

Dean's fist tightened around his blade. "Listen to me, bitch—"

"Actually," Robbie said, looking up at Dean, who gaped at him, "she's right. This is my _real_ family. They want me to grow. So I'm going with them." Robbie left Dean's side and headed to the angel's. "We can take him for extra power, I guess," he added with a shrug.

Dean's lips parted. "Robbie!"

The boy examined his uncle across from him for a silent, prolonged moment; it both worried and confused Dean the way he stared so intently into his eyes. "It's okay, Uncle Dean," he said with a smirk, his words sure and confident. "Trust me. It's better for all of us."

"Dammit, Robbie!" Dean snarled, trying to move as Robbie froze him in place. He struggled, even though he knew it was futile. Two angels seized him and held him still as another took the angel blade from his hand. "Fucking berries," Dean growled as the angels began dragging him on a path behind Robbie and the lead angel, helpless to do anything but follow.

* * *

Rachel slowly blinked her eyes open, attempting to focus on her surroundings. Memories of the moments before she passed out flooded her mind; she sprang forward and tried to speak, but tape covered her mouth, and she was stopped short by tight ropes around her wrists behind her. She was bound to a thick heater, the ropes tied around a deep set pipe in the grate. The tiled floor under her was cold, a dampness permeating the air in the small, unfurnished room she was in. Bare, plaster peeling walls surrounded her, a single door at the far end of the room the only means of escape. There were no windows, no way to know where she was. She had to assume an abandoned house from the lack of heat and amount of dust.

She wet her throat as the door hinges creaked, her eyes widening as a demon entered. His eyes were solid black, his smile more than chilling as he shut the door. He was the one who made her pass out. "You're up," the demon noted. "Good. We need to get you listed."

Rachel couldn't fight the tremble as the demon neared her, squatting down to her level as he leaned in close. She pressed away as much as she could with a muffled whimper. "Aww," he said, stroking her cheek. "Don't be afraid. I don't want you. Just the money you'll make me." He smoothed her hair with a laugh. "Gotta look pretty for the website," he said. Pushing to stand he smiled down at her, readying to take her picture. Rachel ducked her face downward. "Look at me," the demon demanded, irritated. He focused his power, and she began to scream as her body felt like knives were slicing through it. "Look at me," he repeated. Slowly, she lifted her head, tears wetting her cheeks. He snapped a picture, then grinned and released her from the invisible torture. "I'm gonna make so much money off of you, pretty girl."

The door burst open behind him. The demon whirled around, seeing August and two other demons fill the space. "I thought we had an understanding, Kyrus," August said, taking a step closer to the demon who captured Rachel.

The demon named Kyrus gaped in surprise. "We … We did."

"Did you really think you could hide her?"

"I … Listen, I-"

"And then you want to list her online. Is that right?"

"Uh … No! What I meant was—"

Rachel's scream was doused by the thick tape over her mouth; she ducked her head with a shudder as August shot the demon with an angel bullet, blood splattering over her as his body fell to the ground. She moaned and whimpered in terror, shaking as she kept her head down. "Hey," August said softly as he approached, "it's alright." Rachel dared to look up, a shudder still coursing through her veins. August squatted down and slowly peeled the tape off of her mouth. "There," he said with a smile. "Let's get you untied."

"You sent them!" she snarled.

"Me?" August's brow wrinkled. "He isn't my friend," he insisted as he untied her. "This monster stole you, along with the other one. But now they're dead." He took her hand. "Come on, stand up."

Rachel hesitated as she saw the other two men standing silently near the door. "Who are they?"

" _Those_ are my friends."

Slowly standing, Rachel shook her head a little. "But you knew his name," she insisted softly, looking into August's eyes.

August smiled. "Well, of course I did," he laughed. "I mean, they _were_ my friends, until they backstabbed me."

Rachel's stomach dropped. In an instant, she heard Sam's desperate pleas, even after she shot him, begging her not to trust August.

"See," August continued as he confidently stepped toward Rachel while she backed away, "I was never going to sell you. That's barbaric! I was merely going to offer you an incredible business opportunity."

Rachel looked around the room, realizing that there was nothing around to defend herself with, nor any other means of escape. She was quite literally trapped. Her pulse exploded in her veins as she saw the true coldness in August that Sam tried to keep her from. _Sam_. A virtual stranger. The man she shot wanted to protect her from the family she knew all her life. "Stay away from me," she warned, though she had nothing to back it up with.

August smiled. "It's a great opportunity, Rachel. I think you'll want to hear it."

"Go to hell," she spat.

Lifting his chin, August examined her. "You always were a little bitch." He snagged her arms, and Rachel attempted to fight, but quickly lost as he braced her. "See," he hissed in her ear, "this is what's going to happen. You're going to do what you did best for me—you're going to make me money. And in return, you get to live."

His choice of words swirled through her mind like a vortex. _What I did best?_ She didn't understand what he meant, and it more than frightened her.

August nodded to one of the demons, who took out a glowing vial of blue grace and crossed the distance to give it to August. "You're going to drink this," August continued as the demon returned to the entry, "and we will all live happily ever after."

The second demon's head shot up with sudden recognition. "Sir!" he said, gaining August's attention, "there's an angel nearby."

"You warded the place," August snapped.

"He's not alone."

August's eyes narrowed. "Whoever it is, tell the others to deal with them."

The demons nodded and left the room. Rachel's heart pounded against her chest. "What do you mean, _what I did best_?" she dared to ask, trying to twist herself free to no avail.

Drawing in a deep breath, August sighed. "As a kid, I watched how you ruined my family. I saw how you tore into everything my father built with the church with your freak-show convictions. I saw how you sent my mother into hysterics over your little exploits. You were a waste of space, utterly useless—that is, until you grew up and I realized how young men can be motivated by pretty virgin girls."

Instantly, Rachel's breath caught in her throat. Cold flowed through her veins, a shiver of impending dread creeping up her spine. Bile teased at her throat, a horrid nausea washing over her. She couldn't hear the rest of what August would say. But she had no choice.


	112. Chapter 111

**TRIGGER WARNING: Non-con sex/rape discussed; some language.**

 **It's a pretty dark/violent/sad chapter. :(**

 **Ye have been warned.**

* * *

Instantly, Rachel's breath caught in her throat. Cold flowed through her veins, a shiver of impending dread creeping up her spine. She couldn't hear the rest of what August would say. But she had no choice. Bile teased at her throat, a horrid nausea washing over her.

Before August could finish, the door to the small room burst open, a large body flying through it, smacking against the wall. Rachel gasped, immediately recognizing the silky curtain of chestnut brown hair that draped over the figure's lowered face. "Sam," she whispered, stunned. August's words a moment before faded at the sight of him. He _was_ alive. And he had come for her. A perfect stranger risked his life to protect her.

The two demons that had accompanied August, plus another followed into the room, one yanking Sam to stand. Rachel got a better look as they turned him. Blood painted under his nose and over his mouth into his beard. His eyes locked on hers with an immediate intensity that made Rachel ache for his safety. Why did she ever doubt him? Why did she do this to him? This was all her fault. She watched his chest rise and fall as he attempted to both catch his breath and fight his captors. Their imposing strength stopped him from moving too much, but it didn't quell the fire in his eyes as his gaze shifted to August. "Let her go," Sam warned, his tone inky with hatred.

August chuckled. "You're not in much of a position to threaten, Sam."

"Not yet."

With strength from pure adrenaline, Sam swung one demon off of himself just far enough to punch the other in the face, knocking him to the ground. Sam kicked the one still standing in the jaw, sending him backward to the ground away from himself. The third one snagged his arm; Sam growled as he fought. The demon snarled in anger as he twisted Sam's right arm unnaturally, eliciting a groan from Sam, who quickly found himself in the three demons' tight hold again. With a free hand, one of them yanked Sam's head back by his hair.

"Are you done?" August asked, smirking.

"I swear to God," Sam began, ending as one of the demons came to stand in front of him and kicked him in the stomach. Sam doubled over, coughing against the attack.

"I have to say," August continued, "I do admire your spirit. Comes from a lifetime of fighting, I assume. Though you did make time for law school." He locked eyes with Sam as the demons forced him upright. "When I began my search for Rachel, naturally your name came up. I learned _a lot_ about you. Sam Winchester, the big bad hunter. Smart guy. Except when you started an apocalypse and Hulked out on demon blood. Remember that time when you were so close to an all-American life? And then what happened?"

"Fuck you," Sam snarled, immediately seeing Jessica's burning body on the ceiling of his college apartment in his mind's eye. He spit out the blood and saliva that collected in his mouth from the kick, enraged.

"She burned to death, didn't she, Sam?" August tilted his head slightly. Rachel's eyes widened, her heart aching for Sam as she saw the pain in his eyes. "The girl you were going to marry. She died. Because of you. Yet, here you are, thinking you'll tie my sister up into the same fate."

"Don't you dare act like you give a shit about her," Sam shot back. "All you want is her power."

"Be that as it may, I'll certainly be able to keep her safer than you." August leaned his mouth to Rachel's ear. "And now, you get to keep him safe." Rachel gasped as one demon pulled a thick knife from a sheath, resting the blade against Sam's throat.

"You're a monster," Rachel spat, tears filling her eyes. The dark truth she always felt about him rose to the surface. He was a disgusting liar, a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was nothing more than a living charade. "Leave him alone!"

"I'm a monster?" August scoffed. "Dad was right about you. You're more blind than I thought. At least he told me how to fix you before he died."

Rachel's lips parted. "Dad's ... dead?"

"Just you and me now," August smirked. He shifted, dragging her with him as she tried to fight his iron grip. "You have a choice," he continued to Rachel. He showed her the vial; he caught Sam's reaction out of the corner of his eye. "You either take this, or he dies."

"Rachel," Sam immediately begged, gaining her attention. His tone was full of ache. "Don't."

"I'll give you thirty seconds," August warned her, checking his watch. "Starting now."

"Baby girl," Sam shuddered, gaining her attention back, "listen to me—do _not_ take that."

Rachel shook her head, her heart twisting at the pet name he used so intimately with her out of nowhere. It struck a chord deep within her, though she had no idea why. "Sam—"

"Don't," Sam interrupted, swallowing against the blade to his throat. "Don't take that. Promise me. Promise me you won't."

"I … I can't …"

"Rachel." He searched her eyes, giving her a pained look. "If you take that … Please, sweetheart. You _can't_ take that. No matter what."

"But-"

" _No matter what_."

"But you'll …" Her eyes moved to the floor, hot tears clouding her vision as she wrestled with the unknown of the vial Sam seemed so scared of, and his brutal death.

"It's okay," Sam said in a soft tone; she met his eyes. He offered her a sad, knowing smile and nod. "I promise you, it's _okay_. _Don't_ take it. Alright?"

"Fifteen seconds," August warned.

"Rachel," Sam begged, this time louder as he saw her hesitance, "let him kill me. _Let him_."

"I can't!" she shuddered back.

"Yes, you can," he argued. "You can. You _will_."

"Ten seconds," August smirked. "Nine, eight …"

Sam's tears slipped down his cheeks, August's counting like a knife stabbing his heart with each number. He saw the stubbornness he had come to love in Rachel across from him, a boldness rising to the surface. She was a fighter, and he dreaded it in this moment. "Listen to me," he urged, "he will kill me anyway, but you don't have to suffer for it. Don't take it."

August smirked as he continued counting. "Four, three—"

" _I'll do it_!" Rachel shouted, her heart slamming against her chest as she silenced August. If August was willing to go the lengths he did for her and the vial, it had to be powerful stuff. She had no idea what future awaited her, but she knew it would give her something she could use to free Sam. She'd only use a little. Then see what happened. It was a risky plan, but it was all she had.

Sam was wrought with pain over her choice, his lip quivering as he blinked through a tear. It trickled down his bloodied face. "No," he shuddered, gasping as August let Rachel go and handed her the vial. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted, trying to fight to take the vial from Rachel. Still, he couldn't move, doomed to watch her tiny hands shake as she held it.

Rachel kept her eyes on Sam as she slowly twisted the cap of the vial, her tears freely running down her cheeks. Would she die? Why did he not want her to take it? Was it poison? What power would she have, and why? With hesitance, Rachel took the cap off. She heard Sam's hoarse protest as she watched the silvery-blue mist travel immediately toward her. With an involuntary inhale, it entered her body. A frigid rush moved through her veins. It stunned her, its power seeping deeper into her with each beat of her heart. _Not all of it_ , she reminded herself through her haze. With urgency, she closed the vial, stopping the flow of the mist. She had consumed about half of it, the tingling running over her body.

"All of it," August snarled. "Take all of it, or I'll kill him."

Clarity washed through her as she looked to the demons and Sam. It was as if a film had been lifted off of her, the world around her making more sense than before, especially the past. Especially with August. The creatures who held Sam had grotesque, distorted faces, and they focused on her with surprise, as if a very visible change had been made, though she knew it hadn't on the outside. She closed her eyes, her head drooping a little as she soaked in the strength. Inside, she could feel the energy churning into a fiery beam of light. "No, you won't," she said matter-of-factly. She lifted her head, opening her eyes and focused on August; her irises glowed a brilliant blue. "Because I'm going to kill you."

Time slowed for her, though in reality, it unfolded in the blink of an eye. Her body fluidly moved as she stretched out her palm out toward the demons holding Sam. She twisted her wrist and curled her fingers closed. As if just her very thoughts could execute her wishes, immediately, the demons released Sam, who watched in stunned amazement as they lit up, burning from within. With an unforgiving flick, she tossed all three of their bodies to the ground, the demons wriggling as they each died.

Rachel then turned her focus to August. She seized his neck and slammed him against the wall. Her fingers dug into his throat; he gasped against her inhuman power, his airways nearly cut off as she pressed him against the plaster. He gagged against her iron grip. "Did you actually think you could control me? You arrogant bastard."

"Please," August begged, saliva catching in his throat. "Please let me go."

"I have no pity for you," she snapped. Her heart raced as past details danced through her mind that had been long forgotten, shut out to protect herself from the trauma she experienced. "I remember now," she said softly, watching him squirm as she held him with just enough of a choke that he would struggle but not die. "I remember something from that night."

Sam's heart was more than broken for her, seeing the pain Rachel held in her eyes as she gripped her brother. He picked up the knife the demons threatened him with and stepped closer, not intending to interfere yet.

"I remember that afternoon before the service," Rachel continued to August, her jaw clenched. "We fought—but then again, we usually did. We argued about me wanting to speak at the youth service that night about the darkness, and how to see it to protect yourself. You wouldn't let me. You called me an embarrassment, a freak. But you said something to me that didn't make sense until now. Right before I left your room, you said, 'You'll find out what you're good for soon. I'll make sure of it.' It was confusing-we had just argued, but yet you seemed to want to help me.

"Your words rang through my head again that night at the church. During the social call, before it was time to leave, you were in the back of the room. You stood there with a smile. But you weren't alone, were you?" Rachel's nails dug into his skin, eliciting a whimper from him. "No. You weren't. Your three buddies were with you. Then they came over to me and asked me if I wanted a ride home after church. I was still mad at you, so it was a relief to not have to sit next to you, or be near Dad. So I said yes."

Sam's nostrils flared as his stomach sank. He knew what night she was referring to-it made him sick just thinking about. He looked at August, connecting the dots as Rachel did, horrified by her revelation.

"They didn't drive me home," Rachel said, her eyes beginning to tear. "They took me to Langfield's farm instead. I was confused. I asked why we had stopped. But before I knew it, I was begging for mercy as my jeans and panties were ripped off of me and tossed aside. They shoved my shirt up and broke my bra by yanking it down. I was fifteen, August. Skinny, tiny. Scared. Those boys were older, stronger. And it was three to one. I didn't stand a chance."

Sam saw August's panicked look as Rachel shoved him against the plaster, her eyes burning with rage. "Two held me down while the third raped me," she spat. "And when one was done, they switched. They stuffed my mouth with rags and grabbed at my breasts as they tore me. I was bleeding, screaming, terrified. It didn't matter. They called me a slut. They told me to take it like a good whore." She yanked him away from the wall, only to slam him back against it. "Over, and over, and over," she shouted, hitting his head with each word, "six times, until their dicks were spent." Shaking, she squeezed harder, August gasping for air. "And then, they left me there," she said, her tone softening. "They left me alone in a cornfield, my body covered in blood, dirt, and used condoms."

Sam's stomach lurched at the scene she painted so bluntly. He swallowed back the bile, his rage burning hot as he listened. He was still unsure of Rachel's power, but he moved closer. She didn't seem to care. "I dressed myself as best as I could and walked a mile to the corner deli on foot in the dark," she told August. "The owner called the police." Rachel smiled; it was heartbreaking for Sam. "And then Dad came, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened. I was fine, he said. The red stains were from spilled punch at church. The dirt was from a game of tag." Her tears fell freely. "He said, 'She just needs a shower and some sleep. Sorry to bother you.' And they believed him, because they were so deep in his pocket that they had no other choice. So I went home and showered, but nothing could remove the filth they made me feel. I scrubbed my skin raw, and still felt dirty. Then I cried myself to sleep in the room next to yours. While you, what? Watched a movie? Played video games? I didn't know. All I knew was that I was more terrified than I had ever been in my life. And no one cared."

Her eyes narrowed. "But I knew all that before a moment ago. What I didn't know, or didn't remember, was that before they asked if I wanted a ride, they each gave you something. I can see it now. They gave you _money,_ " she spat, her face close to his. "They paid you for your silence, didn't they?" She trembled as August didn't answer. "How much did they pay you?" she whispered, searching his eyes. August remained quiet. " _How much_?!" Rachel screamed in his ear.

August struggled to find the breath to reply. "A hundred and fifty dollars," he replied, his eyes shutting.

Rachel examined him for a long moment, seeing Sam stow the knife and approach out of the corner of her eye, until he was nearly next to her. "A hundred and fifty dollars," she repeated, her jaw tight with rage. She sniffed as August's eyes opened. "You ruined my life for _a hundred and fifty fucking dollars_!" Her rage was nearly palpable. "Well … since I'm worth so little to you," she said in a lower tone, "... I'll kill you for free, big bro."

"Rachel," Sam said gently, laying his hand on her shoulder. He felt the violent tension coursing through her, his heart decimated by her pain and her discovery. "Don't," he whispered, coming to stand behind her. He took both of her shoulders, his breath warm as he leaned to her ear. His scent enveloped her, wrapping around her like a security blanket. "You don't want to kill him. It's something you'll never come back from."

"He doesn't deserve to live!" she argued, wanting nothing more than Sam's embrace except justice.

"You're right," Sam said, looking up at August. "He doesn't. But you don't want his blood on your hands. It won't change what he did to you. It won't change him from being a monster." He looked back down at her from behind, his lips close to her neck. "But it will change you. And the change won't be good."

Sam held his breath as Rachel's fingers slowly loosened around August's throat, until he was free. He watched him suck in deep breaths of air as molten hot rage boiled just under the surface. "Good girl," he whispered, keeping his eyes on August, who was still trying to regain his breath. "That's good, sweetheart." Gently, he backed her up until she was a comfortable distance away. She seemed to return to her usual self, the intensity she had with August dissipating. Turning her to face the wall, he whispered, "Listen to me, baby girl: I need you to stay still. Don't move. Don't look. No matter what. Okay?"

She nodded. Pressing a lingering kiss on her cheek, Sam let go of her shoulders and moved away her. His eyes were locked on August as he whipped out the knife the demons held against his throat from its sheath. The imposing, ragged blade glinted in the light as he stepped confidently to August. Sam saw him straighten, meeting his eyes. With a more than practiced leap, Sam grabbed August's shoulder with his left hand, his right sinking the blade deep into August's stomach as he pressed him to the wall. August gasped, stunned as Sam held it there. "I told you you'd regret this," Sam whispered into his ear, a sadistic edge to his voice. "Now you're going to feel what it's like to have your body torn into six times. Just like you let them do to her. One."

Sam yanked out the knife, plunging it into him again. "Two," he whispered, blood covering his hand as he buried it to the hilt. Again, he withdrew and stabbed. "Three." August sputtered blood from his mouth as he gasped and coughed. Rachel shook, horrified at what she heard behind her. She didn't move, though. Her body wouldn't let her turn around. "Four," Sam said. "Five."

Readying for the final blow, Sam examined August. He was nearly immobile, limp and defeated. "Enjoy hell, you filthy sonofabitch," he whispered, shoving the knife into his stomach one more time. "Six."

Sam withdrew the knife and let August's body fall to the ground. His right hand, wrist, and forearm were soaked with blood, barely any skin visible as it ran off of him and dripped down. He turned and looked to Rachel, relieved to see her back was still to him.

Using his clean hand, he ushered her toward the doorway, coming to stand in front of her as her back was still to August's body. There was a pain and ache so evident in his expression that her heart broke. It was deeper than someone merely avenging a stranger. He was avenging a friend. _No. A lover_. The demons had mentioned that she was, "Sam's baby mama." What did that mean? She leaned into her grace, trying to find the same clarity she did with August, but she couldn't. Still, the way Sam looked down at her was feral, raw. He was a lion, protecting his mate, stopping at nothing to make sure she was safe. Everything inside of her screamed it to be true, but she couldn't see anything in her mind's eye with her new power before she met him at the bunker. Her head had ached with a strength she had never felt the moment she took the mysterious mist, but she chalked it up to tension. Still, the drumming was incessant. Even August's death wouldn't relieve it. All she wanted was some quiet peace and safety, and to be far away from the horror behind her.

Sam moved closer to her; Rachel stepped back a little on instinct. With a deep breath, he paused, understanding her hesitance as the fog lifted over his mind. What he had done was more than violent—it was animalistic. Despite not seeing it, he knew she heard it. His rage had taken over, his desire to see August suffer for the pain he caused Rachel his singular focus. He couldn't blame her for being unsure of him, not with how he just had brutally slaughtered her brother. But he couldn't let her have the weight of killing him. It would cling to her like a parasite and suck the life from her until she was bled dry. His life was already marred with kills, stained with the blood of too many to count. He would be fine. And even if he wasn't, it didn't matter, because it wouldn't be her burden to carry.

Mary rushed in, followed by Rick and Castiel. They had been disabled by demons, more there than they anticipated. Sam had been separated from them, and Castiel was unable to use his powers because of the wardings used. It was a long uphill battle, but they were fortunate to be able to take them slowly but surely. Her jaw dropped when she saw Sam's bloodied arm as he turned toward them, then looked to Rachel. She looked unharmed. "Sam?" she asked, her gaze moving back to her son.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, aghast.

Sam looked between them. "He got the least of what he deserved," he replied, his jaw set. Both Mary and Castiel knew better than to question him further, though their concern for Sam's mental state was evident in their expressions.

Rick offered up his button down shirt that hung over his tee, handing it to Sam. Sam used it to clean his arm and the blade, then Rick took both the knife and the shirt as Sam moved to Rachel. "Come on, baby girl," he murmured, reaching out and taking her hand. "Let's go home."

Rachel looked down at Sam's bloodstained hand that covered hers. Her eyes watered, her lip quivering. Her head pounded with ferocity, but his touch seemed to make it bearable. As his electricity flowed through her, she thought about asking him the burning question of their past, to know if she was insane for thinking they were something more. Instead, she stayed silent. Rachel let Sam lace his fingers through hers, clinging to his arm and the warmth that his presence gave her.

Sam led her out of the room, staying behind the others. He kept Rachel from looking back at August's body, shaking his head. "Don't," he said in her ear. "You don't want to." He held her to his side, unwilling to let her go. He needed her presence just as much as she needed his.

They continued to process through the abandoned house around the bodies of several demons until they were outside. Rachel squinted her eyes at the setting sunlight, unsure what time it even was. "We need to burn it," Castiel said, looking to Sam and Mary.

"Why don't you get her in the car?" Mary said to her son. "We'll take care of this."

Sam looked between them, nodding softly before taking Rachel to the Impala. He opened the door and climbed first into the backseat, knowing he'd be sharing it with another person. He guided Rachel to sit at the end so she could curl up against him, and she did.

Sam shut the door, taking his jacket he had left behind and draping it over her like a blanket. He tightened his arm around her, drawing her as close as possible as she rested against his chest. His free hand found hers, covering it and stroking her skin with his thumb. He stared straight ahead, his body still heated from his rage against August. How could he do that to her? How could anyone? _For a hundred and fifty bucks. All because she dared to disagree._ He sold his sister's body, and his silence as she was tortured. It was vile and barbaric. Inhumane. Sickening.

"Wait here," he urged Rachel, quickly abandoning her and the Impala through the opposite door. He ran out into the grass, hurling only a moment later. Bile shoved at his throat, and he threw up more, the sickness of her reality too much to bear. He had never heard the details of the night she was raped as a teen. She hadn't ever spoken of it, and he never asked. Sam coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood and bits of vomit clung to his skin, and a putrid taste clung to his mouth. He drew in a couple deep breaths as he cleaned himself, trying to erase the images she painted from his mind. It would be futile—they would join the other cacophony of horrors Rachel had experienced that plagued his dreams every night.

With an exhale, Sam returned to the Impala, seeing how Rachel was startled when the door opened. "I'm sorry," he said softly, moving across the seat and shutting the door behind him. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked, brow wrinkled.

Sam knew the question carried multiple meanings. "Are you?" he chose to ask as a reply.

Rachel wet her lips. She was emotionally spent, but physically mostly fine. Maybe even a step above fine, ever since they left the house. She was dying to know what the blue substance in the vial in her pocket was, but she also was too worn to care in that moment. She also couldn't help but feel a need to mourn the monster who had sold her, somehow still clinging to the last bit of family that was now gone. "I will be," she answered softly as she looked at the blood and dirt that streaked his face.

Sam moved closer, cursing his long legs as he sat in the middle, the seat with the least legroom. It was more than worth it, though. He drew her to his side, tighter than before. His warmth permeated into her, quelling the shivers that threatened to creep up her spine. "So will I," he murmured into her hair. "We both will be."

Rachel's eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat as Sam gave her a slow kiss to the top of her head. The electricity they shared seemed to double in intensity, and she didn't think she could ever get enough of his safety. She pressed herself as close as she could to him, a tremor running through her as his hand covered hers. The same hands that held her with such tenderness had been bathed in the blood of her brother only moments before. The same man who reverently kissed her and shielded her was the one who made sure her brother paid handsomely for his atrocities. There was a duality to Sam, an inner darkness that was just as powerful as the light. Still, she knew she had never felt safer or more cared for than she did in that moment.


	113. Chapter 112

**S15 SPOILER! WARNING! DON'T READ THE BOLD BELOW IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT CURRENT S15 HAPPENINGS.**

 **SPOILER WARNING  
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 _ **So, I admit, I'm behind a few eps in S15, but I'm seeing a LOT of posts about the Sam/Eileen ship. I don't hate it, but I just don't quite fully see it either. ANYWAY, naturally I was thinking about this fic, and my commitment to weaving in episodes through the end of the series, but depending on what happens, that whole plot line might be eliminated or altered here. And it also depends on where this fic itself goes. I'm currently still in S14 here. Does Sam lose/leave Rachel and end up with Eileen? You tell me! Leave me a review, let me know your thoughts. Do you think Rachel is better for him, or Eileen (though it isn't proven that anything is there yet)? Leave some love!**_

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About three hours into their eight hour trip, Sam studied his mother from behind. She looked more than tired as she drove, and he caught the yawn she tried to stifle. "Mom," he said quietly, "why don't we get some rooms for the night?"

Mary nodded. She was exhausted-she had spent hours worried over the condition she found Sam in, not to mention what she assumed was August Lentz's body. She knew Sam had to have been pushed pretty hard to reach the level he had, but she feared what got him there. It was a more violent scene than she ever witnessed with him. "There's a Super 8 in about ten miles," she noted. Her eyes flicked to Rick, who was asleep on Sam's right. "I think we all need some good rest." She moved her attention back to Sam. "How is she?"

Sam looked down at Rachel, who was nestled into the crook of his left arm, sleeping soundly. "Okay, I think."

"She took the grace, though?" Castiel asked from the front passenger seat.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "About a half of a vial."

"Might not be enough to truly affect her."

"She has strength, though. And some ability. She burned three demons."

Castiel glanced back at Rachel, concern evident on his face. "Have you told her what she took?" he asked, looking up at Sam.

"No," Sam said, stroking her arm methodically. "She … I don't even know if she knows what the demons were. Too much happened."

"What, exactly, happened?"

Sam swallowed, hesitating. "Too much," he decided to reply, knowing his repeated answer didn't give his mother or Castiel any peace. Even after three hours of silence, he couldn't rid himself of the horrors of that night. "Get a single for yourself, and two doubles," he said to his mother. "She's not leaving my sight." Sam leaned his head back, continuing to gently massage Rachel as she slept. He drank in the nourishment that came from holding her. The details of their relationship didn't matter in that moment. He knew she had been surprised with his intimacy earlier using pet names, but she also seemed to soak it in. It relieved him.

When they pulled into the lot, everyone left the car except for Sam and Rachel. Sam gently increased the pressure of his movements, hoping to peacefully wake her. Instead, she jumped with a scream, yanking herself away from him. "Shh," he urged, taking her arm and holding her with reassurance. "You're okay."

Rachel blinked, focusing on Sam's partially lit face in the darkness of the car. "I'm sorry," she managed, still trying to calm her heart.

"Don't apologize," Sam urged. "Remember?"

"... Yeah."

Sam caught himself as he nearly chided her for not repeating the security phrase they used to use of, "yes sir." He cleared his throat, offering her a smile. "We're stopping for the night," he explained. "Everyone needs some good rest."

With a nod, Rachel silently opened the car door and exited. Sam watched, worried as he observed her. He followed her, closing the Impala door behind himself and coming to stand next to Mary. She handed him a key. "They only had three singles. But each room has an armchair."

Sam took the key. "Get some sleep," he urged her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He caught Rachel's hesitant look, knowing she was unsure where she'd be sleeping. "The bed is yours," he said, gesturing with a nod to the door he approached as they all went their separate ways.

Rachel wanted to object, knowing he needed the bed because of his size, but knew Sam would likely not hear it anyway. She walked into the room as Sam held the door open, fidgeting with her hands as he locked it behind them and flicked the bedside lamp on. She saw him put a duffel on the bed, pausing for a moment. "I've got a few extra shirts in here if you want to use one for tonight." He looked to her, sighing. Her bag was left with the car she took, both likely stolen by now. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "You've lost literally everything. I … I can't imagine how that feels."

Not wanting to break down in front of him, Rachel shrugged it off. "It's okay. It's just stuff, you know?" She moved away a little and busied herself studying the furniture, tracing her fingertips along the surfaces to feel the textures. Anything to keep from losing it. She took a glance over her shoulder. "Do you, uh … have something with long sleeves?"

Sam rifled through the bag, producing his favorite blue flannel. It was well worn, the cotton more than comforting. Just what she needed. He held it out to her. "This okay?" Rachel nodded, swallowing as she took it. Sam added a bottle each of shampoo and conditioner, and a brush, "Go on," he urged. "Go first. So you can rest."

"Thanks," she murmured, taking the items to the bathroom as quickly as she could. She wasn't sure why she felt incredibly nervous about sharing a room with Sam. But she was absolutely certain she needed his presence, which he seemed to know.

Rachel let the hot shower spray run over her back and hair as she soaked in the heat. She wasn't cold, but she couldn't stop shivering. It was all from emotions, and she knew that, but it didn't make it any less difficult to ease her mind.

His shampoo and conditioner smelled like him—an herbal scent that was homey and relaxing. She rubbed it into her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on anything but the sounds of August dying. She began to cry when she thought about Elizabeth. Were they still married? _No._ Rachel remembered what his hands looked like—there was no ring on his finger. It helped to ease the guilt a bit, but she was still an overall mess. The tears kept coming, but she made sure to be quiet. She didn't want to upset Sam. He didn't need any more burdens from her.

Once finished, Rachel shut off the water and toweled herself off. She slipped on her panties she wore before, leaving her bra in the pile of her laundry. With hesitation, she took up Sam's shirt. The fabric nearly immediately acted like a security blanket. It was so familiar to the touch that it eased her heart. Why did it feel that way? It was just a wash worn shirt. Wasn't it? She slipped it on and buttoned the tiny white buttons up, leaving a couple undone at the top. It was huge on her. The hem hit at mid thigh, and the arms were ridiculously long. It was perfect. She wrapped her arms around herself as she looked into the mirror. There was a power in the shirt she couldn't explain, but it relieved some of the darkness, and she couldn't deny that.

When she was finally done brushing her hair, she exited the bathroom with hesitation. She held her pile of dirty laundry to her chest, catching Sam's eyes. He held a bundle of his own clothes and offered her a small smile as he passed by her and took her place in the bathroom.

As the door shut and the shower water began to run again, Rachel put her clothes on the floor near Sam's duffel bag and glanced to the bed. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but it wouldn't be that easy. Not for a long time. And there was no way she could take the bed. Sam was well over six feet tall. He would never fit on the chair comfortably. She, on the other hand, could make do.

Rachel flicked off the bedside light and took a blanket from the small closet next to the bathroom. Curling up into the armchair, she draped it over herself and attempted to sleep, failing miserably. Instead, she stared at the wall and listened to the relaxing sounds of the shower, recalling the last two days. What she thought she knew was completely wrong, and what she thought wasn't safe was all that kept her alive. It was more than confusing. There was no reasonable explanation as to why she felt the way she did with Sam. It was far beyond a simple crush, or a circumstantial attraction. It was fire, lightning, passion. It was an intense heat, blazing with intimate power. It was soft, familiar, and safe. It was for her. For no one else. Or so it felt.

When the bathroom light flicked off, Rachel shifted her focus from the wall to the door. Her lips parted as she saw Sam shutting it. _Oh sweet baby Jesus._ He wore only a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips, his broad back and torso bare as he gave his damp hair a final ruffle. After he chucked the towel onto the bathroom counter, he turned around, and it got worse. Or better. She couldn't decide. His body was more than fit, the power she had felt evident in its grooves and carving. His arms were thick and muscular; they seemed to call to her, teasing her with their safety and security.

Sam met Rachel's eyes, quickly realizing the issue when he saw her expression. "Shit," he murmured, panicked. "I'll put on … hang on—"

"It's okay," she assured, cursing herself for her weirdly eager undertone to her voice. "It's fine. Really."

He paused. "Are you sure?"

Rachel nodded. "Yeah." She gulped, her cheeks heating rapidly. "Nice, uh, tat. What does it mean?"

"Thanks," Sam murmured. "It's, um, an anti-possession symbol."

"Oh."

An awkward silence spread between them, the room only lit by the bright milky white parking lot lighting visible through the thin curtains on the window. "Well," Rachel said, tugging the blanket a little higher, hoping it covered her warm flush as she cleared her throat, "goodnight."

Sam laughed. "You're joking, right?"

Rachel felt her heart clench. "What do you mean?"

"You're not sleeping there," Sam replied. "You're taking the bed. I'm taking the chair."

This time, Rachel laughed. "Uh, no. Have you seen your legs? You'd wake up in the shape of a pretzel."

Sam smiled down at her, a teasing nature taking over. "That's cute. Now get in the bed."

She smirked back. "Make me."

His grin got wider, a hint of his dimples showing. He quickly wet his lips. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart," he murmured in a husky tone.

A fierce shiver ran up her spine as a heat simultaneously bloomed within. Rachel was a bit surprised at his boldness, delayed in her reply. In that moment, as she searched his eyes, she realized what she felt was very real. She saw it reflected back in his eyes, a familiarity and bond that couldn't be manufactured for a stranger. She was something more to him. Much more. "I'll take the bed on one condition," she said, eyeing him. "Tell me the truth."

Sam was caught completely off guard. Her demand would damage everything. He drew in a deep breath. "The truth?"

She nodded. "About us."

" _Us_?"

"Yes, us."

"What about us?"

Rachel growled in frustration. "I _know_ there's something you're not telling me. I need to know what that is."

Sam knew she wouldn't be fooled any longer. "Now … really isn't …"

Rachel's heart stopped. _There IS more!_ "Sam!" she begged, abandoning the chair and the blanket, rushing to him. She grabbed his hands, desperate. "Tell me. I can't hear any more lies. _Please._ "

Jaw tightening, Sam slowly led Rachel to the edge of the bed, sitting down next to her. He shut his eyes, rubbing his temples as he tried to think of how to proceed. "You were a hunter, and … and we … Dean, you, me … we lived together, and we …" He stopped, shaking his head. He knew she would reject the truth.

Her small hand slid over his. She was willing to believe. She had to be. He was willing to die for her. There was so much more she didn't know, that much she at least was certain of. "Tell me," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I promise, I'll listen."

"It's going to be a lot," Sam warned, joining their hands together.

"Start from the beginning," Rachel encouraged, relishing his touch.

"I will seem like a really bad lie."

"I don't care."

"You say that now, but I don't know if you understand—"

"Just shut up and tell me, dufus," she snipped. The way Sam chuckled in response made her confused. "What?"

"What you said," he explained. "It's so _you._ " His admiration made her blush. Sam blew out a breath. "The long and short of it is, you were a hunter … and you're a nephilim." He watched for her reaction, not missing how her eyes widened. "We didn't know that until recently. Maybe about a couple months ago. Your family … they aren't your biological family. That's why you came to live with us, because you had nowhere to go. And we cared about you. We wanted to keep you safe."

Rachel's brow shot up. "A nephilim? I'm a … _nephilim_? Like, a half angel?"

Sam nodded. "We don't know who your father is, but your mother is the archangel Barachiel. August intended to give you back your grace to activate your power, so he could market you as a miracle healer."

Rachel rushed for her jeans, pulling out the glowing vial. "This … is … _grace_?" Sam nodded; he plucked it from her fingers and stowed it in a safe spot in his duffel. Rachel sat back down next to him, stunned. "I'm an angel? … Wait, angels are _real_?" It more than made sense. She remembered Sam's initial conversation with August, and the feelings she had when she was in the abandoned house. It was nearly celestial. It _was_ celestial. "So …" She swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're a very powerful person," Sam replied. "And that power has attracted a lot of attention." He dared to tuck her wet hair behind her ear; she soaked in his tender touch before his hand returned to his lap. "If you take more grace, you'll lose your soul _._ You … seemed to have found a 'sweet spot' with the amount."

"That's why you didn't want me to take it," Rachel concluded.

"Yeah."

"So August knew I was a nephilim. Is that … why he hated me?"

"I don't know," Sam replied with a sad look.

"You said I was a hunter," she reminded him, seeing his instant tension. "Why don't I remember anything about it?"

Sam wet his lips, taking her hand. He went to speak, but words failed him. "It's … You went on a search for your grace to help us fight a powerful enemy. Only, you took yours and another darker angel's essence by accident. It was too much power for one host. So, you had a choice. You would either submit and become the other angel, or protect everyone else and become a full angel with your own grace, in turn losing your soul. And … you chose to sacrifice yourself."

Rachel shook her head. "I-I don't understand."

"You lost … You lost your soul to gain the power to expel the other angel from your body," he explained. "You gave up your life as you knew it to keep us safe, so you wouldn't host the dark angel. After that, you were rebirthed. To an extent. Part of your original soul is still in you. The part of you that lived up to the moment Alex died. The rest … is new."

Shutting her eyes, Rachel hung her head. Though she had been thoroughly warned, it was far too much to process. "So … I was someone else before I woke up." She opened her eyes, scanning his as he nodded. A heavy silence formed between them. It would explain why she felt how she did with Sam, why his touch was so familiar, so healing. It would explain the overwhelming feelings of connection that stirred within. Only partially, though. If they were just friends, why was he ready to kiss her on the first day they met? There was more. She knew it. "I was someone else to you, wasn't I?" she dared to ask after a long moment. Jaw flexing, Sam didn't reply. "What was I?" she whispered, holding his gaze.

Sam drank her in, barely able to resist tasting her mouth. She wasn't his anymore, but she was so close, and it was so familiar that it made him ache for her in the worst way. But it wasn't right. He couldn't expect her to love him again. He couldn't just take her, like he desperately wanted to. He would need to earn that. "You were our friend," he said, wetting his throat.

 _He's holding back,_ Rachel thought _._ He had to be. He looked like he was in pain. Plus their connection was too unbelievable to just be one between friends. "Sam, what was I _to you_?" she repeated.

"A friend _,_ " Sam replied, clenching the sheets under them in his fist. There was a roughness to his tone that she hadn't expected. Then, it softened. "You were a friend. A good friend." His fingers dug into the cheap material next to him, trying to brace the unbearable pain of dismissing her true meaning. "We both cared about you very much. You saved our asses on hunts, and patched us up. You made us laugh. You took care of us. You were … an invaluable part of our team."

Rachel looked down at her bare knees, tracing the squares on Sam's plaid shirt over her thigh. She was just a friend. She was wrong, and it stung more than she knew it could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how Sam's knuckles whitened in his grip on the sheets. "I'm sorry," she managed, an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment washing over her.

Sam turned to her, facing her. "What are you sorry for?" he asked tenderly.

"I just …" Rachel met his eyes. "I'm just sorry I brought it up."

"Don't be," Sam insisted.

"It's painful for you, I can tell."

"It's okay."

Rachel pushed to her feet, drawing in a shaky breath. "I, um, am … gonna go to sleep." She forced a smile; it made Sam's stomach sink as he stood. "Goodnight."

Sam grabbed her hand as she turned for the chair. "Rachel," he whispered, suddenly unable to continue begging for her forgiveness. He made her feel unwanted, and he knew it. How could she expect him to tell her what she truly was? It would be even more awkward. "Take the bed," he finally said, hating himself for his cowardice.

"It's fine," she insisted. "I, uh, feel better on the chair."

Her hand slipped from his. Sam watched her return to the chair and take up the blanket, settling in. _You're such an idiot!_ he shouted at himself. Still, how was it fair to her to expect her to pick up where they left off without even knowing who he was?

Defeated, Sam flopped on the bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the ceiling. _God dammit!_ There was no coming back from it now. Anything he'd do now would feel like charity to her. He knew her. That's how she would perceive it. He missed his shot, all because he refused to take advantage of the present by using their past.

* * *

Dean wore a scowl as he sat bound to a sleek gray steel chair, watching as Robbie followed the lead angel toward a large picture window in the room they were in. The building was unlike anything he had ever seen—he couldn't recall entering an actual physical building, but somehow ended up in an interior that lacked any sort of charm. It was bathed in hues of gray, utilitarian in style. It matched the Guardians personalities. They were stiff, silent as the lead one, who identified herself as Soranel, spoke.

"So you have no interest in your mother's soul?" Soranel asked, examining the boy.

Robbie shook his head. "Not really. I mean, it would be kinda cool to see it. But that's it, really."

Soranel smiled. "You're looking at it," she said as she gestured to the scenery outside the window.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh perfect. You made it into plants." He eyed the angels who approached him with warning looks. "Dicks," he muttered.

With a glare, Soranel returned her focus to Robbie. "His shortcoming as a human makes him unable to see it. But I know you do, Robert."

Robbie nodded, staring out of the window at the ball of energy that manifested itself into a beautiful white flaming tree. "Yeah. It's cool, I guess. But I would've picked something other than a tree."

"It's merely a tree in the moment," Soranel said, amused. "It can be whatever we wish it to."

"How?"

"Well, it requires a great deal of power. Our existence together is what manifested this version of the plane you're on. I imagine when your mother brought you here, it looked different."

"Yeah. It was a beach."

"And smaller, I'm certain."

"I guess." Robbie looked her over. "So, this place is basically whatever I want it to be?"

"What _we_ want it to be," Soranel corrected. "The power it takes is more than any one Guardian has alone."

"Must be why you wanted Rachel's soul," Dean remarked. "See, our girl made an entire beach by herself. She's definitely stronger than you dicks."

"Be that as it may," Soranel replied to him, "she made one facet of a world. We have created multiple." She turned to Robbie. "And with your help, we could create much more. Think of all the humans you could help by giving them the safety of a Guardian protected world."

"Don't listen to her, Robbie," Dean warned. "She doesn't want to help anyone but herself." He growled as an angel gave him a shockwave through a touch to his shoulder. "Touch me again, and you die," he snarled, panting as he tried to recover.

"Your uncle is misguided," Soranel said to Robbie. "You are our Father's most precious creations. It has been our job since the dawn of time to protect you."

"Yeah, great job on that," Dean remarked, receiving another shock in return. "Ooh, you sonofabitch. You'd better be ready for me," he said to the angel.

"So, I could make more worlds?" Robbie asked.

"With your power, I'm certain whatever you could imagine would be possible."

Robbie nodded in thought. "Can I try to make something?" he asked Soranel. He looked to Dean. "I want to see what I can do!"

Soranel smiled. "Of course."

With a grin, Robbie held out his palms. He looked down at his right one, focusing for a long moment before he produced a glowing cube. "Very good," Soranel said.

"Oh, I'm not done," Robbie said as he focused on his left palm, producing another cube.

"With some practice, I think you could certainly do great things."

Robbie grinned, looking straight at Dean. "I don't need practice," he replied to Soranel, holding his uncle's gaze.

Dean was confused; his brow wrinkled as he saw Robbie lift his palm, still looking at him. "What are you doing, Robbie?" Dean asked, feeling more than panicked by his nephew's mental state and current silence. "Robbie?!" With a deep breath, Robbie cast out the cube toward Dean. "No!" Dean shouted, shutting his eyes and grimacing as the light enveloped him.

A few moments later, Dean dared to blink his eyes open. _Wait,_ he thought, _I'm not dead._ He looked around himself, feeling his wrists were free. _And I'm not bound._ His pulse raced, surveying the thick glass cube he was encased in. "What the hell?" he muttered. His eyes widened as he saw Robbie smirking from the other side. The angels were still around them, but they looked worried instead of smug.

Before Dean could beg to be freed, he watched the boy raise his free hand up, his palm facing out as he closed his eyes. With suddenness, the Guardians around him collapsed, each pawing at their throats with wide eyed. Dean gasped, watching as the bright essence of each angel was drawn out of their vessel and absorbed into Robbie's palm. A glowing orb of energy built; the boy held it in place as the vessels became lifeless on the ground. Then, Robbie took the orb and curled his fingers around it. The boy began to grimace, focusing on the power he had within as the orb slowly reduced in size. _He's killing them,_ Dean thought, shocked.

Little by little, the orb of the angel's essences was reduced to nothing. Robbie collapsed onto the floor, panting. Dean finally understood what his nephew had done—he got them into the heart of their lair, located his mother's soul, and kept him safe. The berries might have changed his mental state for a small bit of time, but somewhere along the way, he used their power to his advantage, even after it wore off. With his lies, he was able to protect his plan from being read in Dean's mind. It was more than clever.

Dean's heart broke as the boy shuddered, still holding the second cube. It was to carry his mother's soul. Blood ran down Robbie's nose, his dark hair stuck to his brow. "Get me out of here!" Dean shouted. "Come on, Robbie! Let me out so I can help you!"

Robbie ignored his uncle and instead pushed slowly to his knees. He reached toward the massive glowing tree, shouting in pain as he stretched his fingers toward it and began to pull it with his power. The boy growled in agony as he slowly absorbed the energy of the tree into his palm. Tears leaked down Robbie's cheeks as he fought with everything he had. It was heartbreaking for Dean to watch. He had never felt more helpless in his life. Dean pounded and kicked on the cube he was trapped in, desperate to get to his nephew.

With a final cry, Robbie seized all of Rachel's soul. He shook a little as he slowly pressed it to the cube in his other hand. It became a small steel box with no visible opening. Robbie's face was soaked with blood and tears. The pain of growing and using his power so extremely nearly killed him. "Robbie!" he heard Dean shout from behind the glass he used to protect him. "Let me out so I can help you!"

Panting, Robbie dissolved the cube, freeing Dean. "There are more coming, Uncle Dean!" he warned, still on the ground as he clutched the small box to his chest. He sounded like he was normal again, the sweet little boy Dean adored back in his tone.

"Okay easy, Buddy," Dean urged as he stooped down and held Robbie steady, brushing the hair from his eyes. "Just take a breath."

"No! I need more power so I can get us home!" Robbie narrowed his green eyes on Dean. "You've gotta keep them out of here until I can grow more!"

Dean saw the subtle changes in Robbie. He was still very much a small boy, but there were differences in his appearance. He had grown, but only to the minimum he needed. He suffered through it for Sam. Dean had never been more sure that Robbie was the purest soul he ever met. "How much time do you need?" he asked gently as he clutched his nephew close.

"I don't know," Robbie admitted, still somewhat out of breath. He searched Dean's eyes, blood dripping from his nose. "But they're coming, Uncle Dean. You've got to stop them, or they'll kill us both."


	114. Chapter 113

_**Hey, party people! Leave me some love (or hate, whatever). I always enjoy feedback, so be sure to drop a note when you're done reading. :)**_

* * *

Sam didn't sleep at all, only nodding off every now and then for a few minutes at a time. Instead, he watched Rachel sleep, wasting hours of time trying to draw up the courage to tell her the truth, but failing. It was a miserably long night, one he knew would be remedied if he was able to hold her. He wanted her close, wanted to tell her the truth, but the truth seemed unfair. Still, there was nothing more he desired than to wrap his arms around her and to taste her skin to soothe her to sleep.

Rachel didn't seem to need much soothing, though. She was sleeping well, and Sam was grateful for that. He was worried she wouldn't be able to after the day she had, but exhaustion seemed to keep her under its spell. He dreaded the days to follow, when her body had more rest and more energy to remind her of the horrors she just went through. That's when the nightmares would come. And he wouldn't be there next to her to help her through them.

Staring at the ceiling, Sam contemplated his options. If Robbie and Dean weren't able to recover Rachel's soul, would he tell her the truth about them? He wanted to, in the worst way. Would she want that, though? Would she want the life she had been living? Or would it be far too much for her to handle? Would she run away, like she had tried to before?

At 7am, he finally decided to get up, cutting his losses for the sleep he missed. He quietly dressed into jeans from his sweats and tugged a navy tee over his torso, glancing over at Rachel sleeping. Despite knowing how much he messed up, he couldn't help but to hold out hope to somehow redeem himself. It was a delicate balance, making her feel wanted without overwhelming her, when all he really wanted to do was to claim her as his rightful own.

As he buttoned up a flannel shirt over his tee, Sam saw Rachel stir. He busied himself making a pot of coffee, hoping to offer it as a way to break through the uncomfortable ice he made the night before. He focused on the slow drip of the brew, seeing Rachel slowly sit up out of the corner of his eye. "Morning," he said, offering her a small smile.

Rachel pawed at her tousled hair, giving him a brief smile back. "Morning."

Awkwardness permeated through the room. Sam poured her a styrofoam cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tension he felt within and between them. He mixed in some cream and handed it to her as she crossed to him, trying not to stare at his shirt skimming over her creamy thighs.

"Thanks," Rachel murmured, taking the cup gratefully. She went to ask him how he knew how she took her coffee, then stopped, remembering what he said the night before. They were friends. They lived together. She watched Sam as he poured a second cup, focusing on his hands. She couldn't help but want to take hold of one to feel their connection he so vehemently denied. She never felt anything remotely close to what she did when he touched her.

"No problem," he said, fixing his own cup. He took a long sip, sighing as he finished. She smelled amazing, and it was driving him insane. He wanted to sink his hands into her hair, gripping it tight as he devoured her mouth. "If you want," he began after a long moment, "you can, uh, keep the shirt."

Rachel looked up, seeing how Sam was more than focused on her. The way his eyes skimmed over her body made her cheeks heat up. She nodded, burying her face into her coffee cup. "Thanks," she said after taking a sip.

The tension in the air was nearly suffocating. Rachel focused on tracing her cup with her fingertip while Sam cleared his throat and shifted away. He gripped his cup tighter, trying to think of what to do. Trying to think of anything but how delicious she looked in his favorite shirt, or how he wanted to take it off of her and hear her scream his name in ecstasy. "Rachel," he began, gaining her attention, "about last night—"

Before Sam could finish, Castiel flapped into their room. Rachel jumped, nearly sloshing her coffee as she gasped in shock. "What the hell?!" she asked, eyes wide as she backed away.

Sam set his cup down and moved to her. "It's okay," he assured gently, taking her hand. It was soft and warm, so achingly good to the touch that he nearly kissed it. "Castiel should've knocked." He eyed the angel with a look of irritation.

Rachel shook her head. "Yeah, but how the hell did he do that?!"

"He's an … he's an angel."

Looking at Sam in disbelief, Rachel set her own cup down. "Wait, what?"

"I know this is a lot to take in," Sam said, "but Cas is on our side. You don't need to worry about him."

Brow wrinkling, Rachel looked between the two men. "If he's an angel … Can I do that too?"

"Your grace level is likely insufficient for teleportation," Castiel replied.

"Oh." Rachel drew in a breath, still more than perplexed at the world that was unraveling around her, and it showed. "Excuse me." She withdrew her hand from Sam's and scooped up her jeans, shirt, and bra, ducking into the bathroom and quickly closing the door.

"Cas," Sam hissed, whirling around, "you've _got_ to remember that this Rachel isn't _our_ Rachel. Try not to overload her. We need to take it slow. _Really_ slow." He sighed. "Painfully slow," he muttered to himself.

Castiel examined Sam. "She doesn't know? About you and her—"

"No," Sam interrupted. "And that's how it's staying right now." He grit his teeth. "And _don't_ go into my head like that."

"It's kind of hard to ignore the singular thought you're practically blasting. There's no need to be embarrassed. Your sexual urges are very natural, so-"

"Why are you here, Cas?" Sam asked with as much patience as he could muster after a night of no sleep.

"We need to get back to Kansas," Castiel replied. "Robbie's powers are expanding. The tremors are quite powerful, and bound to manifest here. The aftermath will be like a beacon to all angels and demons."

Sam's expression shifted. "What are the 'tremors?' And what do you mean, manifest here? And the 'aftermath?'"

"They can be felt by those with powers, but they will also manifest on earth in some sort of 'natural' concentrated phenomenon, which will more than likely occur in Kansas."

"Like a flood, earthquake, fire?"

"Potentially. We should be at the bunker when it happens. An imprint of angelic power will be left when it's through, and it will attract attention. Rachel should be where she is safest. She is resonating again, though not as strong as before."

"Is she still a topic of discussion?"

"She's Barachiel's daughter. She never won't be."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Cas." He watched the angel flap away, then shut his eyes with a sigh. Robbie was growing. It made him ache with regret. What if he sent his son and his brother on an impossible mission? Would they know when to throw in the towel? Or would Robbie keep growing until he was an adult all in vain?

The bathroom door opened; Sam's eyes darted to it, taking in Rachel. She had put on her jeans but kept the shirt. It was tied at the waist, twisted to sort of fit her petite frame. The sleeves were rolled, and her old shirt peeked out from underneath. "I, uh, don't know what they did with my coat," Rachel said softly, glancing at her shoes that waited on the floor. Sam quickly grabbed his duffel, fishing through it. He produced a hoodie. "Oh no," Rachel objected, feeling embarrassed, "I didn't mean you had to—"

"I know you didn't," he interrupted gently, crossing to her. He handed her the black sweatshirt with a smile. "But you've got to have something. It's cold out."

Rachel took the hoodie, smiling back as she slipped it on. "Thanks."

Sam stepped back a little and took up his coffee. "Welcome." He wet his lips, unable to help but enjoy the sight of his clothes on her. "It looks good," he said softly.

"Thanks," she replied in an equal tone, feeling her cheeks heat.

Awkwardness once again surrounded them. They each sipped at their coffees, avoiding the other while taking sneaks of glances in between. "Is the, uh, coffee okay?" Sam asked.

"It's great," Rachel replied. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. I needed it desperately."

Guilt washed over Rachel's features. "You didn't sleep."

Sam shook his head. "No, I … It's not your fault. I usually don't sleep well."

Rachel twisted at her fingers as she held her cup. "Last night … I didn't mean to press the subject—"

"It's okay," Sam assured. "You have a right to know the … truth."

"Right," she replied meagerly, remembering his truth he revealed that left her more than empty and confused. "Truth is .. is good." She laughed softly, shrugging as she began to nervously ramble. "A bit crazy, knowing you have a duel life you don't remember. But, I mean, it's kinda like a fresh start, so … I can … figure it out. Again. Or for the first time. I-I don't know which one it would be, to be honest—"

"Rachel," Sam interrupted, moving to her. He watched the way she tried to bury her feelings, pained as he saw her struggle. "I know … I know this has to be hard, but I need you to know … What I said last night—"

A loud buzz ringtone on Sam's phone sliced through the moment; it more than startled Rachel. She watched as Sam fished out his cell, seeing his brow wrinkle. "What's wrong?" she asked softly. The tone wasn't just an ordinary notification—she recognized it as the standard emergency broadcast warning sound.

"An impending tornado," Sam replied softly. "And a blizzard."

"What?!" Rachel asked, shocked. "Both?!" Sam nodded, focused on the screen. "But … that's not … that's not possible. … Is it?"

Sam silently grabbed the remote to the small television across from them and flicked on the local broadcast channel. They both watched as the on-air anchor warned people about the impending storm that they were dubbing, "Snownado" in the red ticker tape at the bottom of the screen. "We are continuing to track the Snownado's path as it heads southwest," the news anchor said. "According to our Doppler radar, the Snownado's point of major impact will take place in Smith County, Kansas at approximately 7pm central standard time. Effects of the expected EF-4 to 5 twister and blizzard combination will be felt throughout the state and into western Missouri, northeastern Oklahoma, and southern Nebraska. Kansas' governor has called for a state of emergency, and is encouraging residents to take shelter immediately, and to utilize all precautions for an extended stay, such as adequate food and water supply, and radios and flashlights with fresh batteries. Police are highly discouraging any unlicensed storm tracking, and will be implementing roadblocks as needed to monitor incoming and outgoing activity in Kansas and along its borders. This storm is expected to be very severe, with winds ranging from 80 to 120 miles per hour. Snow accumulation is yet to be determined, but residents should expect a residual 8 to 10 inch drifts. We will continue around the clock coverage to bring you the latest updates."

Sam set his coffee down and flicked the television off, his stomach knotting. _Robbie._ His son had stirred up this storm. Was he okay? Why was he using so much power?

Rachel gasped, connecting the dots as she saw Sam's paled expression. "Oh my God," she whispered, setting her cup next to his. "Robbie." Her hand slid over his; he met her eyes. "Where is he camping?"

Sam managed to smile softly with fake assurance. The last thing he needed was to open the can of truth worms. "He's, uh, farther north. He'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

With a nod, Sam set the remote down; Rachel withdrew her hand. "He'll be fine. Dean's got him."

"I'll go outside while you call Dean—"

"It's okay," Sam interrupted. "I'm not, uh, calling him."

Stunned, Rachel raised a brow. "Are you … Are you sure?"

Sam nodded stiffly. "Yep."

Rachel watched him as he moved away to recheck his duffel, a sinking feeling overcoming her. He was worried. More than worried. She could see it in his eyes. "We should get going so we can get back to the bunker," Sam said as he zipped his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and looked back at her. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Rachel replied softly with a nod. It didn't matter —Sam barely waited for her reply before striding to the door and opening it. She followed, sick with worry over both the impending storm and what Sam refused to talk about. Was Robbie in danger? Sam was hours away from being able to help, all because of her. A sudden thought burst into Rachel's mind. She grabbed Sam's jacket sleeve, halting him. "You can teleport to him!" she said, searching his eyes. "Castanel can do that, can't he?"

Sam smirked at her mispronunciation. "Cas-ti-el," he gently corrected. "And it's okay, I need to be here with you. I don't know if there will be repercussions with the demons or not, and I'd rather be able to protect you just in case."

"But—"

"It's okay," Sam interrupted. "Really. They'll be fine."

"And you?" Rachel asked, holding his gaze with expectancy.

Sam's smile was forced, and she felt it. "I will be too."

Rachel's brow knitted together as she watched Sam cross the threshold, meeting Mary and Rick as they approached. She shut the motel room door and hung back a bit, worried over what Sam wasn't saying.

"You heard about the storm?" Mary asked Sam.

Sam nodded. He looked to Castiel as he flashed in. "Cas, take everyone back to the bunker," he instructed. "I'll drive the car back."

Rachel's lips parted in surprise; she saw Mary's equal confusion. "Sam, you shouldn't be alone," his mother argued.

"I need everyone to get where they have to be before this storm hits," Sam argued back. "We've got hunters on shift that need to get home and protected. And I need you back there to help facilitate that, and to stay safe."

"I can stay," Rick offered.

Sam smiled softly. "You have a pregnant wife," he reminded him gently. "You're going."

"I'll stay," Rachel said with as much confidence as she could muster, clinging to it as the others shot her a look. She hated the way they looked at her with such doubt and skepticism.

"No," Sam objected, shaking his head.

"I'm staying with you," Rachel insisted, stepping toward him. "You need to have someone just in case. This isn't a storm you should ride through alone."

"And I need you safe," Sam argued back. "I'm not letting you stay. You need to be in the bunker."

Rachel arched a brow at him. "You don't 'let me' do anything," she reminded him. "I'm staying."

It was painfully familiar, and made Sam ache. Her stubbornness would mean she'd get her way—even if he forbade her staying, she'd find a way to. And he would rather know she was safe as she rebelled than to not. His jaw tightened. "Fine," he said with a heavy sigh, hating himself.

"That's not wise, Sam," Castiel said in a suggestive tone, looking to Rachel for a prolonged moment.

"Cas—"

Castiel returned his focus to Sam. "She shouldn't stay. It's highly unpredictable, and far too risky. She should—"

"She stays," Sam shot back, feeling nearly defeated from his stress. "And you stay with Mom at home. They don't expect it to begin until about nine hours from now. That leaves a three hour leeway. We'll be fine."

With a heavy sigh, Castiel gave Sam a nod. Sam looked to his mother, then to Rick, giving them each a nod. "Make sure everyone gets home as soon as possible," he said to them, receiving a nod in return. "And please be careful."

Rachel watched as Castiel moved next to them, catching his eyes. Was he mad at her? Why was he adamant about her leaving too? It seemed like out of the three, he thought she should be at the bunker the most. Did he not trust her? Was he scared of her having grace? Was there a reason to be scared?

Before she knew it, they were gone. She swallowed hard, feeling strange nerves biting at her. Sure, the storm was intimidating, but the nerves weren't from weather. It was as if a massive red flag shot up somewhere in her mind, but she wasn't exactly sure where or why. All she knew was, it wouldn't go away. Rachel looked to Sam, who drew in a deep breath. "Alright," he said, offering her a small smile, "let's get on the road."

* * *

The first two hours of the ride were nothing short of awkward. Between the tension from the night before and the unfinished thoughts of the morning, Rachel had more than enough mind fodder to keep her busy. She knew Sam was more than worried for his son and his brother, and she couldn't blame him one bit. But his refusal to call Dean seemed more than weird. If it was her son …

Rachel sighed as she watched the scenery breeze by, massive dead fields empty and waiting for the impending monster storm. Robbie was such an amazing boy, one she felt so drawn to right from the beginning. She saw bits of herself in his passionate spirit and his desire to belong. The way he spoke to her, the way he wanted her to be his mother …

 _He's a kid_ , she rationalized. _He just wants a family again. A mom again._ Rachel flicked her eyes to Sam, who had his left arm propped at the elbow along the door, his right hand on the steering wheel as his left sunk back and forth into his hair absentmindedly. Sam had been more than adamant about defining their relationship as merely friends, but his little nuances with her said anything but. Was it because she hurt him somehow? August had said his fiancée burnt to death. A horrible thought hit her. What if somehow she was to blame for her death?

Swallowing back the illness the idea made, Rachel shifted in her seat, drawing the hoodie tighter around herself. Sam seemed perfectly fine with the minimal warm air pushing through the vents, but she was freezing. She didn't want to complain, though—he already wasn't a fan of her being with him on the ride. It wasn't time to rock the boat.

Her focus returned to outside of her window. She watched the few trees she saw sway with the growing wind, dead leaves swirled into massive clouds of brown. Or was she imagining that? Being from New York, she had never experienced a tornado. The concept more than frightened her. Was it really like _Twister_? _Maybe that's why Sam isn't afraid. He's used to it._ The darkened skies and whip of air across the Impala did nothing to settle her nerves, though. Even if he was used to it, she certainly wasn't. The car seemed to jerk a bit, but she wasn't sure if it was because of its age or size, or if the conditions were worsening like she feared.

A few moments went by before Rachel sucked in a breath and readied herself. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, examining his profile.

Sam glanced at her, his left arm falling to his lap. "Yeah," he replied, knowing it sounded a bit unnatural. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"I'm … okay."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked gently.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Just a little cold," she admitted. Her toes felt like ice.

Sam's eyes darted to the panel. He seemed surprised himself at how the heat wasn't even turned on. He quickly flicked it on high, scoffing at himself. "Sorry, I … I didn't even realize it wasn't on." He looked up at her. "You should've said something."

"It's okay," she assured. "I just thought you preferred it that way."

"No, I … I wouldn't want you to be cold."

"It's not a big deal." Rachel watched as he resumed his focus on the road ahead. "Do you … Do you feel like the sky's darker?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "But it's only four more hours to Lebanon. Which should give us plenty of time to …" His voice trailed off as his brow wrinkled.

Rachel looked him over, panic rising within. She was already on edge enough. "What's wrong?"

"Cops," Sam murmured.

"You weren't speeding."

Shaking his head, Sam exhaled heavily. "No, it's a roadblock."

"A roadblock?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah. For storm chasers."

Eyes widened, Rachel looked out the windshield as she narrowed in on the tiny flickering lights ahead. Sam slowed the car, joining several others in a dead stop behind the police blockage. Her heart raced as she felt the wind press angrily against the Impala. Now that they were stopped, it was easier to determine just how much of the car's jerking was from age or from weather. And it was mostly weather.

They inched forward, processing at a snail's pace as the wind continued to whip across the landscape. "This isn't good, is it?" Rachel whispered after a few minutes, her fingertips digging into the seat under her.

"No," Sam admitted. "It doesn't seem to be."

When it was their turn to talk to the police, Sam cranked his window down. The cold air blasted through the car, extinguishing any heat that had accumulated in the little bit of time it was on. Rachel tried to see the officer but her view was blocked by Sam. "Sir," the officer said, sounding more than a bit tired of repeating himself, "where are you headed?"

"Home, sir. We're not storm chasers," Sam insisted.

The officer cocked a brow at him. "Just decided to take the scenic route back to Ohio?"

"No, uh, we're headed to Kansas."

"Uh huh. Just as I thought."

Sam winced. "No, no, no—home. We live in Kansas, sir."

"Which is why your car has Ohio plates."

Rachel swallowed hard. This was not playing out well. "Sir, I can assure you, we aren't chasing the storm," Sam repeated.

As Sam went to reach for his wallet, the officer barked, "Hands where I can see them! On the wheel!"

Sam froze, keeping his hands on the wheel. "Sir, I was reaching for my wallet."

"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus. If you're not chasing the storm, then you won't mind popping the trunk."

Rachel caught how Sam's jaw ticked. It was likely where he stored his weapons. "Sir, there's nothing—"

The officer pulled out his gun; Rachel gasped. "Park the car, and step out of the vehicle," he barked to Sam. " _Now_!"

With a look of stiff compliance, Sam swallowed and moved the car into park. "Step out of the vehicle," the officer repeated.

A butt of a nightstick banged on Rachel's window. She jumped, turning to it to see another officer eyeing her. "Hands up! Step out of the car, ma'am," she heard him say, his voice muffled a bit from the glass.

"She hasn't done anything," Sam snapped, glaring at both officers.

"She's with you. It's suspect enough," the officer on his side replied. "Out of the car."

Rachel's heart raced, the odd feeling she had earlier coming to the surface. It was as if a radar had been flicked in her mind, and something besides the obvious was triggering it wildly—something unseen.

Sam caught Rachel's eyes, hesitating. There was genuine fear in them. "Step out of the vehicle, _now_!" both officers snapped in near tandem with each other.

"Sam," she breathed, shaking her head a little. She couldn't get the words out fast enough.

" _Now_!"

Rachel and Sam slowly unbuckled their belts and raised their hands; the officer on Rachel's side opened the door and yanked her out. "Hey!" Sam growled. "Get your hands off of her!"

The driver's side officer snagged Sam by the arm and pulled him out, slamming him against the backseat door, his stomach pressed to the car. "Hands behind your back," the officer warned him.

"He didn't do anything!" Rachel shouted.

"Quiet," the officer holding her barked.

"We didn't— " Rachel stopped. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the officer behind Sam; his face was grotesque, a grin spreading over it as he kept Sam pinned. _Demon._


	115. Chapter 114

_**This is probably my last chapter of 2019, so I just wanted to say THANK YOU! to everyone who has read and/or reviewed. You rock! Hope 2020 is an amazing year for you. :)  
**_

* * *

Before she could try to communicate the urgent message, Rachel was turned back around. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," the human officer warned her.

Sam tried to see what was happening to Rachel, but only caught glimpses of her being roughly handled by the other officer. "We haven't done anything!" Sam snarled as his arms were forced behind his back; the officer slapped handcuffs around his wrists. "Let her go!" he barked.

"Cool down," the office snapped. He fished for Sam's wallet in his back pocket, opening it and examining his driver's license.

"It says Kansas!" Sam argued, knowing he could easily take on the officer if it weren't for the risk of Rachel being hurt. "We're just trying to get home!"

The officer examined the license, putting it back with a smirk and tossing Sam's wallet on the driver's seat. Sam groaned as he was shoved to the road, landing hard on his stomach. "He's armed!" the officer shouted over the car as he aimed his weapon at Sam. "Check her!"

"Don't touch her!" Sam shouted despite his face being squashed into the blacktop.

"Shut up," the officer warned, keeping his gun trained on him.

"She's clean," the other officer called out.

"Bring her over here."

Sam saw Rachel's worn boots come into view. "On the ground!" the officer over Sam shouted at her. Rachel hesitated, the heat she felt from her powers rapidly building with her nerves. "On the ground!" She felt frozen, panicked as she thought of losing control and hurting innocent people. But she had to do something. A demon would easily hurt Sam, or others. Her thoughts were shaken as the officer kicked her down, making her crash to her knees before they shoved her onto her stomach. "I said, on the ground!" the officer shouted.

"You son of a bitch!" Sam snarled. "Don't touch her!" He received a boot to the back, groaning at the impact on his spine.

"Pop the trunk," the officer aiming at the instructed to the other one.

Rachel met Sam's eyes as best as she could. Her lips quivered. "Demon," she mouthed, knowing he read her lips when she saw the change in his eyes. "Stay down."

"Don't," Sam begged under his breath.

"Have to," she mouthed back.

Sam reluctantly shut his eyes as the second officer came around their side for the keys. Rachel blinked hard, her eyes flashing blue as she burst up. Time slowed as she growled in anger, holding her palm out toward the officer who had been holding Sam. She watched as the demon lit up in shock, her powerful energy destroying it to smoke and ash. The demon burned white hot, dropping close to Sam when it died.

Rachel took a step toward the other officer. Despite him being human, she blasted him backward with her power through an angry scream. The officer flew back several yards until he smacked into a nearby tree, his squad car skidding away and crashing against another vehicle from the force she emitted from her palm.

Heart racing, Rachel broke the connection. Her hand slowly lowered as she saw the stunned faces of the people waiting in line behind them in their cars. "Shit," she breathed. They all saw her. And at least one had a phone out. She turned, focusing on the cuffs that bound Sam and breaking them with her mind before helping him to stand. "We've gotta go!" she ordered.

Sam didn't hesitate; he jumped into the driver's seat as Rachel whirled around to the passenger's. She barely got in as he started the car and peeled off down the highway away from the mess she made.

Rachel sat in her seat, stunned. Had she hurt the innocent human? She hadn't meant to—she just wanted them away from the car and from Sam. Tears filled her eyes. Was he alive? She felt like a monster for what she did to him. Her bottom lip quivered as she recalled the horrified faces of the people behind them in their cars who witnessed her attack. She _was_ a monster in their eyes. And now on video for the world to see.

"Rachel!" Sam shouted, ripping her out of her thoughts. It was the third time he called her name, she not responding the two times before. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes moved to Sam, who was clutching the wheel with a death grip as he drove. "I … I think so."

"Are you hurt at all?"

"N-No."

Sam took a quick look at her. She was clearly in shock. "Listen to me," he said, his voice a bit gentler, "we've got to take a detour and lay low for a bit. If they're following us, they're going to assume we're on the highway."

Rachel shook her head. "But the storm—"

"We don't have a choice," Sam interrupted. "We'll find a public shelter and wait it out there."

"We can't risk it!" she argued back. "If they're following us, they could hurt innocent people!"

"I understand that, but I _need_ you to be safe. Trust me. They are counting on us going home, heading for where we are most secure."

It seemed like an awful plan, but she knew he was right. Still, she couldn't help but feel terrified both of what she had done and of waiting out an epic storm anywhere but the concrete bunker she was familiar with that was stockpiled with supplies.

Rachel watched as Sam fished out his phone and dialed a number, pressing it to his ear as he waited. "Dammit," he growled, throwing it to his lap. "No service."

"The sign a little bit back said there's a gas station coming up," Rachel said quietly. "Bates City."

"Sounds like a place to get murdered," Sam muttered. He sighed. "Alright, Bates City it is."

* * *

It wasn't much later when Sam rolled the Impala into the main road of downtown Bates City. He drew in a deep breath as he examined the microscopic "city." It was a backroad town at best, small worn shops lining the desolate street, only two pickup trucks parked along the entire stretch. "Population — 220," he sighed. "We need better resources."

"You see the sky?" Rachel argued. "Sam, we don't have much time."

Nipping at his bottom lip, he pulled into the gas station, parking the Impala. No one was around, except for three parked cars. Sam narrowed his eyes as he tried to see inside the small corner store across from them. "Wait here," he instructed, glancing over to her. "Lock the door behind me."

Rachel watched as Sam left the Impala, the engine still running. She reached over and pressed the lock down, hesitant as she saw him slip inside.

The conversation stopped as soon as Sam opened the door. Two men stood in front of the counter, a third behind it. They each had supplies in their arms and the one behind the counter a set of keys in hand, readied to lock up. "Can I help you?" the older one behind the counter asked. He seemed genuine.

"We need shelter," Sam admitted softly. "We're hours away from home and need somewhere to ride out the storm. Is there anything here?"

The older man nodded. "Bates City Baptist," he said. "About a mile down that way. Though you'd better get there quick. It ain't a big church, and the basement's even smaller."

"Thanks."

"Welcome. If there ain't space, I reckon you've got an hour or so before the storm gets too bad to drive."

Sam stepped back, giving them a nod before returning to the Impala.

Rachel unlocked the car, Sam quickly climbing in and shutting the door. His hair was askew from the whipping wind. "There's a church basement," he said with a sigh, trying to tame his hair. "I don't know … I think I'll try to find something else—"

"We don't have much choice," she reminded him. "They probably have a phone, so you can call your mom there."

Jaw flexing, Sam started the engine and drove back out onto the main road. Only a couple minutes later, he pulled the Impala into the church parking lot, shutting off the engine. He hesitated as he withdrew the keys, clutching them in his hand. "You okay?" he asked softly, looking at Rachel. She looked confused. "With this," he clarified. "Being here."

Rachel glanced over at the church, drawing in a breath. She had been so concerned about getting somewhere that she hadn't considered what the shelter might do to her head. "I'll be fine," she said with a smile, though she knew it wasn't hardly convincing.

"I'll find something else," Sam said, readying to insert the keys into the column.

"Sam," Rachel said, taking hold of his hand. He stopped. "I'll be fine. I will. I promise." She drank in the warmth and spark of his skin, immediately hungry for more. She moved her hand away, guilt blossoming within.

Sam hated the loss of their connection, wanting nothing more than to cling to her, to hold her close, to tell her how wrong he was for lying to her. He rubbed his brow and climbed out of the car, snagging his duffel from the backseat as Rachel exited on her side.

Popping the trunk, Sam stuffed some weapons into his bag, then secured the hood closed. He looked at the car for a prolonged moment with a heavy sigh. "Just let it be safe for Dean," he murmured as he thought of the Impala's potential fate. He was desperate for some kind of divine intervention on behalf of the car, knowing how much it meant to his brother. Still, he had to keep Rachel safe, both from the storm and from demons. That came first.

With a pat on the car door, Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and urged Rachel forward. When they reached the doors to the sanctuary, he knocked with purpose, then rested his hand at the small of Rachel's back as they waited. She drank in his slow, deep strokes he made against her spine, the simple touch spreading warmth over her like a beautiful blanket of security.

The door opened, and a woman with graying hair tied in a low ponytail smiled at them. "Come on in," she urged. Sam pressed Rachel forward, following her inside as the woman shut the door behind them. "Whew. Looks like you two are just in time. I saw you pull in the lot as I was gathering supplies." She looked between them, her smile growing. "Can't say I've ever seen you before. I'm Anna."

"Rachel," Rachel murmured, a chill coming over her. She glanced around at the church, her stomach knotting.

"Sam," Sam replied. "Thank you for letting us stay."

"No need to thank me. It's mighty nice to meet you," Anna said. She tightened her cream cardigan around her purple top. "You both look exhausted. Where are you from?"

Sam swallowed. "Kansas. We, uh, didn't have enough time to get back."

Anna nodded as she moved deeper into the sanctuary, oblivious to Rachel's struggle as she continued, her navy skirt swishing. "Well, we've just about filled up, but there's still enough space for you. If you don't mind the bit of a crowd."

Sam's fingers ran up and down Rachel's back through her hesitation; he leaned in. "I'm right here," he whispered tenderly, feeling the shiver that ran up her spine. "I won't let anything happen to you."

His assurance was enough to coax her forward. Anna eventually saw their distance and waited for them at the stairwell. "Did you run here, darling?" she asked Rachel as she looked her over. "Your clothes are a right mess."

"It's … a long story," Rachel replied with a polite smile, trying to suppress the massive chill that seemed to be taking over her body.

Anna clucked her tongue as they descended the stairs. "Well, we've got a heap of donations we just sorted, so we'll fix you up with something fresh."

"Oh, that's not necessary—"

"It's already settled." Anna flicked her eyes to Sam. "You've got some things, or should we pray extra hard for enough fabric to fit those legs?"

Sam offered her a smile. "I'm good. Her bag was the only one stolen."

"That's a shame," Anna said, shaking her head. "Don't know why people don't just ask for help instead of taking what isn't theirs." She sighed as she pushed open the door to the finished basement. About thirty other people were already in the space, claim staked in corners and slices of floor with personal items, flashlights, water bottles, chargers, and empty snack wrappers.

Rachel felt her pulse skyrocket as they wove through the crowded basement. All eyes were on the new strangers, following them as they moved. She was relieved when she saw a small corner space available toward the back of the room. Naturally, it was the one closest to the second door stairwell, the spot people didn't want.

"You can set your bag there," Anna instructed Sam, who complied. "Now, I'll be taking your wife to fetch her some new things, so you wait here. There are some supplies left over by Jim down in the corner, so you can get some before they're gone."

Rachel shook her head, a flush tinting her cheeks despite her frigid body temperature. "I'm not … his wife."

"Oh." Anna looked between them. "Well, whatever you are to 'em, we'd best get started."

Sam watched as Rachel was led away, seeing her glance over her shoulder back at him. The simple word gutted him. _Wife._ He couldn't help but reach into his pocket and brush his fingertips against the small ring he faithfully carried. The weight of their circumstances bore down on him, rendering him temporarily immobile. Had he listened to her all those months ago, she wouldn't have risked herself to get grace. Or even if she did, he would've been there to back her. Then she'd still be his, their son would be safe, and so many people wouldn't be in danger. The guilt weighed heavily on him, maybe even more than it had ever in the past. She _was_ his wife. At least, she would've been, had he not been so blind.

Heading to the corner where Anna directed him, Sam offered a smile to the man he assumed was Jim. "Hi," he said, clearing his throat; an awkwardness overcame him as he felt the eyes of others fixed on him. "Anna said you had some spare supplies?"

The heavy-set man silently handed Sam a thin blanket, two bottles of water, and a bag of chips. "All we got left," he said. He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "I know you from somewhere."

Sam swallowed hard, suppressing the panic he felt. Being recognized by a civilian was never usually a good thing for a hunter. "I don't believe we've met."

"Hmmph." Jim looked him over. "Coulda sworn I did."

"No, sir." Sam inhaled deeply, giving him a nod. "Thank you." He made his way back to the corner, his guard more than up despite his exhaustion. Something about the building and the people in it didn't feel right. _Maybe that's what Rachel picked up on_. As he settled into the corner, he glanced to the direction where Anna took her, remembering her kindness. _Or maybe they're just leery of strangers. And maybe she just relived the most horrific night of her life, and then I dragged her to a church_. He looked down at the chips, his stomach rumbling. He'd save them for Rachel. Silently, he rested his head back against the cool plaster, listening to the whipping rumble of the storm above them. It was growing stronger by the second. The meteorologists were wrong. It was coming a lot sooner, and he hoped everyone at home was already settled in. _Mom._ Sam took out his phone, cursing the lack of signal. His battery still was fairly strong, but it was useless without being able to call her.

"Ain't got no service," a man said across from him, catching Sam's attention. "No one does."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, pocketing his phone. "Guess we'll just have to wait."

"Where y'all from?"

"Kansas."

The man scoffed. "Well, you might be better not being home right now."

Sam ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. "I'm worried for my family back there."

"Yeah. Makes sense." The man stretched, yawning. "They still can't figure it out," he said. "The weather people said they have no idea where this storm came from. Sounds fishy to me."

"How so?" Sam asked, immediately seeing Robbie in his mind's eye.

"I'm saying, you don't see a big ass storm cell like this pop outta nowhere." The man leaned in. "I think it's the government."

"The government?"

"Yep. They're keeping it from the public so they can take over implementing FEMA. Then they'll have control over local law."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Sam said. "Crazier things have happened weather wise."

"Yeah? Well you tell me where this all came from, then." The man eyed him. "The only other answer is, God is fixin' to destroy us."

 _God doesn't give a shit about you,_ Sam felt like saying, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm sure things will work out."

"Uh-huh. Right. Well, all I know is, FEMA ain't taking my guns." The man bristled as he settled back in. "My second amendment right."

Sam sighed. His patience was more than thin with his exhaustion, so he was grateful the man decided to end the conversation. _If he only knew ..._

In the rear of the basement, Rachel waited as Anna dug through plastic bags of clothes. "Aha!" Anna said with a smile, handing Rachel a thick blue sweater. "This will help you stay warm."

Rachel felt the fibers, another shiver overcoming her body. It felt like it would take a lot more than a cozy sweater to fight the rapidly growing frigidity in her bones. She silently accepted a tank top to layer underneath and pair of skinny jeans from Anna, nodding in response to her question of whether they would work or not. "Good. The ladies room is just down the hall there. You can change and get settled."

"Thank you," Rachel managed as Anna left, not moving.

"Of course." Anna's brow wrinkled as she turned back and examined her. "You look pale," she murmured. She approached and laid the back of her hand across Rachel's forehead. "My word," she gasped. "You're like ice!" Anna guided Rachel to the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. "We need to get you warm. Come on, now. I'll help you. Let's get these off."

Silence washed over Rachel, the iciness she felt getting dramatically stronger, until her teeth began to chatter. Anna fussed as she undressed her, shaking her head. "You poor thing, out here with no coat." She unzipped Sam's hoodie Rachel was wearing, tossing it aside as she untied the flannel underneath it. "Alright, let's just—" Anna's lips parted as she took off the flannel, revealing Rachel's blood-splattered shirt. "What in the blue moon happened to you?" she whispered, eyes wide. When she didn't hear a response, she looked up, finding Rachel blankly staring ahead as she chattered her teeth. "Oh my Lord," Anna breathed, stunned. She hurriedly changed Rachel, only receiving minimal help from her as she fussed. When she finished, Anna scooped up Rachel's old clothes and guided her back to the main room. "Samuel?" she called out.

Sam's head shot up, hearing the desperation in Anna's voice, immediately pushing to his feet. His stomach sank when he saw Rachel's paled face and uncontrollable shaking. "She's downright icy," Anna breathed as Sam took her into his arms, examining her. "She hasn't said a word. Is she alright? I saw …" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "I saw the blood. Is she injured?"

"No, she's okay. That was from … hunting. She's just … tired," he murmured as he realized the issue. She was sick from being low on grace—she had worn herself out using her powers so much and so quickly. He guided her to their claimed spot, looking up at Anna. "Do you have her clothes?"

Anna handed them to him. "Are you sure she's okay?"

Sam nodded, forcing a smile as he put the hoodie on her over the thick sweater. "She is. Though, a couple extra blankets wouldn't hurt."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

As Anna left, Sam heard how the storm swelled even more. They were stuck. He had some grace he could administer her, but without being able to ration it, he was terrified it would be too much. She would have to charge her batteries on her own. His only viable option was to pray Castiel could transport her to safety in the bunker, but he wasn't even sure if it was possible in the storm, or how he'd explain it to the several others crowding the basement.

Sam wrapped the meager blanket he was given around Rachel, glancing to the corner. He took her into his arms and sat with his back to the wall, pressing against it as he cradled her to his chest, her legs draped to the side. "C-C-Cold," he heard Rachel stutter against him. She stiffened in his arms.

"Shh," Sam urged as he accepted another blanket from Anna with an appreciative nod, draping it over her. "Relax your body," he instructed, making sure she was completely surrounded by as much warmth as he could give her. "I've got you. Rest. Lean on me."

"Why … am I … so cold?"

"You used too much power," he whispered into her ear, drawing her closer. "You're a new angel. You don't have the strength yet."

"S-Sam—"

"Shh," he said tenderly, nuzzling her. "Rest, baby girl. Don't use your energy."

"The … s-storm—"

"I've got you," he reminded her, pressing a thoughtful kiss to her forehead. "You're safe. Just rest for me, okay?" Rachel nodded into his chest, sinking into his hold. "There you go. Atta girl," he whispered against her hair as he kept her close.

For a moment, Sam contemplated seeing if asking Rachel saw any demon faces within the crowd. But she was shivering so hard against him that he couldn't bring himself to ask her to use the energy. Robbie had displayed similar symptoms when drained of energy, though they weren't as severe, likely due to his strong genes and grace received from birth.

 _Robbie._

Sam shut his eyes, his heart aching as he listened to the angry storm. Was he okay? Were he and Dean safe? All he could do was hope - hope that his son and brother were alright, that his family was safe, and hope that the woman he loved would recover. And it felt more than hopeless.

* * *

Dean drew in a deep breath through the silence that followed Robbie's massacre. His fingers flexed over the hilt of the angel blade he held, his eyes scanning for any signs of Guardians. "Talk to me, Robbie," he said to his nephew behind him, keeping his focus forward.

Robbie sat pressed against the back wall just under the large window, his breathing labored. "I'm so tired, Uncle Dean," the boy admitted, defeated.

"It's alright," Dean assured. "I just need you to rest, okay?"

"It won't work!" Robbie argued. "There's too many! I have to fight!"

" _Rest,_ " Dean repeated. "We need your juice to get home. So just charge up, and leave these dicks to me."

"I don't know if I can charge that fast."

"You just let me know when we've got enough to get us home, okay?"

"Okay."

Dean wet his lips as he heard a stampede of feet approaching in the distance. "Showtime," he muttered to himself. If he was being honest, he was terrified. The odds he would make it out alive were slim. "Listen to me carefully, Little Man," Dean said, "if this goes south, I need you to take your mom's soul and book it home."

Robbie's eyes rounded. "But—"

"It's not up for discussion, Robbie," Dean interrupted. He glanced back at the boy. "You get that soul back to your mom. Got it?" Sadly, Robbie slowly nodded. "Atta boy. And Robbie?"

"Yeah?"

Dean gave him a soft smile. "I love you, kid."

Before Robbie could answer, the doors burst open. Dean waited a few beats as the room filled with angels, trying to get the timing right. When he decided it was full enough, he slapped his hand over the banishment sigil he made in his blood, watching as the first batch disappeared. He swallowed hard as more Guardians flooded the room. "You assholes are like rabbits," he grumbled, sending a second batch off with another sigil. "How you doing, Buddy?" he called out behind him.

"I need more time," Robbie admitted.

Dean went to banish the last group of Guardians, but they used their power and seized him, his blade falling to the ground. He tried to fight their grip, clinging clumsily on to whatever he could reach to avoid their hold. Still, they wrestled Dean to them, one taking full control. The Guardian snagged Dean's neck and squeezed, making him cough and sputter for oxygen. The angel smirked, tilting its head as it readied to snap his neck.

A burst of white light flooded the room. Dean dropped to the ground as the angels tumbled over like dominoes. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Robbie holding out his hand, shaking as he clutched the steel box to his chest. "Charge, Robbie!" Dean ordered. "Don't use your juice!" While the angels were down, Dean stood and grabbed his blade, stabbing a few angels before the remaining four stood and slowly approached.

One lunged forward, wrestling with Dean, who managed to flip him backward in time to stop it from snatching his neck. He put his blade through it, barely recovering before another managed to knock him to his back. Dean tried to stab him but failed. He pressed toward the angel with his blade hand, grimacing. With a growl, he overpowered the angel and stabbed it in the neck, shoving its body to the ground as he withdrew his blade.

A scream caught his attention. Dean turned, eyes wide as he saw Robbie fighting the remaining two Guardians. He charged toward them, ripping one off of Robbie and killing it. The second, though, succeeded in loosening the box from Robbie's grip. It tumbled to the floor, the Guardian shaking Robbie unforgivably in the air. "Weak," he spat. "Pathetic. Such a waste undeveloped."

Before he could choke Robbie, Dean shoved his angel blade deep into the Guardian's back, yanking him off of Robbie. Robbie coughed, shaking as Dean shoved the body away. "You okay?" Dean asked, panting.

"Get the box!" Robbie shouted, jabbing a finger toward it.

Dean lifted the boy into his arms and moved to it, quickly snagging it from the ground. "How does this open?" he asked. Robbie ran his finger over the front, producing a latch. It was still locked but was able to be twisted open at will. "Huh. Cool. Thanks."

"What do you mean, 'thanks?'" Robbie asked, stunned.

"Just in case I need to open it."

Before Robbie could speak, Guardians entered, flooding the room. Dean held up the box in his palm, halting the group from coming further. "Don't move," he warned.

"What are you doing?!" Robbie hissed, worried.

"Put the soul down," a Guardian said with narrowed eyes. "Gently."

"Or what?" Dean challenged, holding his gaze. He lifted his arm a bit more, the angels reacting in fear. "I know how this works. This is a bomb."

"Use that, and the boy's mother never regains her life."

"I know," Dean said firmly.

"Then surely you wouldn't take the risk," the Guardian replied.

Dean eyed him. "I would."

Robbie panicked. His uncle was playing Chicken with his mother's life against powerful angels. "Uncle Dean!"

"You have enough juice?" Dean whispered.

"I think so, but—"

"On three, take us back," his uncle ordered quietly.

"But—"

"On three."

"You're making a big mistake," the Guardian warned with a sneer. "That kind of power will never behave how you think it will."

"I'll take my chances," Dean replied, his eyes flicking over the hesitant group in front of him. "One," he said to Robbie. "Two."

On the three count, Dean lifted the box in the air and slowly twisted the lock open. Robbie screamed as he realized what his uncle was doing, but it was too late. He was teleporting them and couldn't stop it from happening. He saw the Guardians cower in fear, a bright white light spilling over everything as he shifted them back to their plane. His uncle had destroyed his mother's soul.

Dean and Robbie landed in the maps room in the bunker. Dean kept Robbie from falling, gripping him tight as he panted. They made it. Robbie's cheeks were soaked with tears. He punched at his uncle, Dean letting him down as he watched the boy rage. "How could you?!" he shouted, kicking him. "How could you do that?!"

"Robbie—"

"You killed it!" Robbie sobbed. "You killed her soul! You killed my mom!"

Dean squatted down, seeing Mary and Castiel approaching in surprise at their return. "Listen to me," he urged.

Instead, he received a punch to his jaw. It wasn't a light hit, but it wasn't anything damaging. "You _killed_ her!"

"Robbie!" Dean shouted, grabbing the boy's shoulders and stilling him. "Listen to me. I didn't kill it."

"It blew them up!"

"Look," Dean urged, showing Robbie the box in his hand. "I manipulated them," he whispered. "Just like they manipulated us. It's been released here. On this plane." He saw how the boy panted, his eyes full of tears. "A released soul will eventually find its owner," Dean assured. "Your mom is going to be fine."

Robbie opened his mouth, readied to speak, but nothing came out. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

Dean nodded, wiping Robbie's eyes. "I'm sure. It'll be fine." He stood, looking to his mother. "Is Rach in her room?" he asked.

Mary's lips parted. "She and Sam are … they're stuck somewhere a few hours east of here."

"Stuck?"

"There's a huge Snownado set to hit here soon. We've tried to reach them but Sam's not answering his phone." Mary looked to Robbie. "Castiel said the storm is from his power."

"Mine?" Robbie asked, surprised. Mary nodded softly. "Then I'll stop it!" He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing hard as he scrunched his nose. He released a breath, opening his eyes. "Did that stop it?"

"No," Castiel said gently. "Robbie, I don't think you will have the strength to."

"I …" Robbie looked up at all of them. "I didn't mean to make it."

"We know," Mary assured as she approached and sank to his level. "It's okay, sweetie."

"Cas," Dean said, feeling nauseous, "how is that going to affect Rachel's soul?"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't honestly know. I assume it can find its way, even with the conflicting energies."

"I had to release it so they couldn't get it," Dean justified. He looked at Mary. "Why are they out east?"

"Long story," Mary sighed, taking Robbie into her arms and holding him close. "I'm so glad you're both alright."

"But what if Mom's soul doesn't make it, Uncle Cas?" Robbie asked Castiel.

Castiel glanced between the group. "I'm sure it will," he said with a small smile. "Your mother is strong, especially now."

Dean took a step forward, brow raised. "What do you mean, especially now?"

"Well," Castiel said quickly, shifting his position nervously, "I just mean that … she's resilient and—"

"Cas," Dean snapped, making Robbie tense in Mary's arms, "what do you mean? What happened?"

Taking a deep breath, the angel sighed. "Rachel has some grace back."

"What?!" Dean gasped.

"She seems to be fine," Castiel assured quickly.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded. When Castiel didn't answer, he looked to his mother. "Mom?!"

Mary exhaled with obvious burden. "She was tricked by her brother," she explained, seeing Dean's reaction. "He led her away from Sam and got her to take the grace somehow. We aren't … sure how. Sam wouldn't say."

Swiping at his face, Dean paced away from the others. A silence fell over the group. "Is Mom still Mom?" Robbie asked quietly.

"She seems to be," Castiel said. "Though the introduction of a new soul … might …"

"Might what?" Dean snapped, looking back at him.

"It might complicate things," Castiel replied. "There's no way to know until she's back."


	116. Chapter 115

A loud bang broke Rachel out of her sleep. She jumped against Sam's chest, her eyes flashing open. Sam's arms immediately tightened around her. "It's okay," he reassured her gently, keeping her close. "Just debris."

"Did the tornado come yet?"

"Not yet." Sam glanced around the room around him, dread lining his stomach. "It will soon, though." His focus shifted to the television in the corner, a small archaic looking box with rabbit ear antennas that barely brought in a clear picture. A few people were gathered around it, intently watching the news broadcast.

"So … what do we do?"

Sam looked down at Rachel. Her voice was so small, so unsure. It was then that he realized she had no experience with tornadoes. Growing up in New York wouldn't give her that opportunity. "We stay down here until it fully passes," he replied gently, keeping her cradled in his arms. "They move pretty quick. The build-up is usually longer than the actual tornado."

"Are we safe down here?"

"As safe as we can be, considering. A cellar would be better but this is a solid building. We should be just fine."

Rachel focused on the weave of Sam's shirt. "Does this area usually get freak storms?"

Sam winced. "It's a bit … unusual," he admitted, hoping she wouldn't ask any questions he couldn't answer without complicating things. A fierce shiver traveled throughout Rachel's body as he held her. "Still cold?" he asked, tightening the blankets over her.

She nodded, her cheek pressed against the soft flannel of his shirt. His scent relaxed her a bit. "A little. I'm … I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "What are you sorry for?"

"I can't help but feel like this is all my fault somehow."

Swallowing, Sam pressed her even tighter to himself. She was right—it was because of her, technically. But more so, it was because of him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he replied, his nose grazing through her hair as he kept their conversation as secret as he could. "Nothing at all." He kept his face partially buried in her locks, drawing in her scent with a suppressed groan. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit better."

"Good. Rest is key. Your body will replenish grace faster with sleep."

Rachel gently traced her finger around the button on Sam's shirt. "You seem to know a lot about nephilims," she remarked quietly, the steady beat of his heart drumming peace into her as he held her.

"I've studied them a lot," Sam said, trying to resist kissing her forehead.

"Why?"

"When we first found out you were one, I wanted to know all I could to … protect you."

His admission made her stomach birth butterflies. "Protect me from what?"

"Other angels," he replied. "Demons. Anyone who would want to harm you."

"Why would demons care about a half angel?"

It was a fair question, one that had a fair answer. Only, he couldn't give her that answer without revealing their truth. "You're the daughter of an archangel. Any time a demon can get possession of an angel, they will. Especially an archangel."

"For money?"

"Some. Some do it for fame. For killing them."

"So, I'm a target," she concluded, guilt ladening her voice.

"You're _not_ a burden," he assured her with a firmness that surprised her. "So don't you dare think that. You hear?" She nodded against him; he didn't catch himself in time to avoid correcting her. "Uh-uh. Say it."

Her brow wrinkled. She lifted her head off his chest a little, her confusion evident. "Say … what?" she asked as she looked into his eyes. His lips were dangerously close to hers.

Sam gulped, backpedaling furiously in his mind. "I said, 'So don't say it,'" he lied.

Rachel wasn't buying what he was selling. She heard him—he clearly refused to accept her nod in place of words. Specific words. But what words did he want to hear? And why? The tone he used was commanding, dominate. It made her body tingle as much as it confused her. "Oh," she said, slowly resting her head against his chest. She heard how his heartbeat sped up; it seemed to thump wildly in his chest. What was he lying about? He _had_ to be lying. She knew what he heard.

An awkward silence clung to the air around them. Rachel shifted her legs, her body twisting a little in Sam's lap as she tucked them into the fetal position. Her heart stopped when she felt something stiff hit her hip. _Oh God._ It wasn't a phone, or a gun. _Oh God._ She froze, trying not to draw attention to her discovery. Yet, it was all she could think about. He was clearly reacting to her. Very clearly. _Of course he is. You're on his freaking lap, pressing against him. Like he's not going to react._

She shivered involuntarily, which made her press against his member more. _Fuck my life._ She felt her cheeks heat up, swearing she was on fire from her embarrassment. Was he embarrassed? She was too scared to look. He had to be feeling what she felt. Yet, he kept her close to himself as if nothing happened. The rigidness pressed against her hip, and she swallowed hard. Not only did she feel him, but she felt _a lot_ of him.

Closing her eyes, Rachel silently willed herself to ignore it, focusing on the rhythmic strokes Sam made over her arm. _Guess I'll just add this to the list of awkward, unaddressed things between us._ The man swore they were merely friends, but she also heard the husky timbre in his voice as he told her to say … something. It wasn't a request. It was a clear demand, one of familiar dominance, of loving command. _Let it go._ If she tried to make heads or tails of it all, she'd only hurt herself. Whatever she heard or felt, it meant nothing. They were friends. That was all. Wasn't it?

Meanwhile, Sam was more than embarrassed about his clear reaction to her body on his. _Blood. Guts. Vamps. Dean eating. Dean farting. Dean doing anything._ He kept chanting the forced images in his mind over and over, trying to think of anything but how good it felt that she was pressed against him. He relaxed his mind, feeling the sudden urge that had overcome him slowly dissipate. _She's not well. She's only on you because she's sick. She's not yours. She's NOT yours._

His thoughts drifted, the cool reality flooding over him as he repeated it in his mind. _She's NOT yours._ It hurt. It more than hurt—it made him ache. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but he had to. Otherwise, he would ruin any shot he had of her staying at the bunker. Maybe over time, things could change. That is, if Robbie and Dean didn't find her soul.

Sam shut his eyes, seeing his son in his mind. Was he okay? Was Dean? The storm outside was a harrowing reminder of the danger they were both in. Acquiring Rachel's soul almost wasn't as important as getting them home safely. If he had to choose, he would rather them be safe and take his chances on winning Rachel over. He would dearly miss his original connection with her, but his son's and Dean's lives were far too important to him to lose on only a possibility. And she was still alive.

His hand had unconsciously found Rachel's hair, his fingertips stroking through it against her scalp. He felt how she had tensed, knowing his reaction was the reason. His desire for her was becoming more difficult to ignore. He knew she was onto him, and the more he denied their relationship, the less chance he had of building a second life with her if her soul couldn't be found. Sam drew in a deep breath, sighing as he shut his eyes momentarily. "Rachel?" he asked softly.

Rachel hesitated, feeling nervous as she clutched his shirt, the flannel soothing under her fingertips. "Yeah?"

"About … About last night … I … I wanted to tell you that—"

A roar of wind swirled up and beat against the church, shaking the basement entrance door at the stop of the stairwell they were adjacent to. Immediately, the power went out. A backup generator flickered on and cast a faint glow over some minimal corners of the space, leaving theirs in darkness based on the distance from the emergency lighting. People rustled about and clicked on flashlights, chattering about the change as small beams of light sliced through the blackness. Their voices joined the roaring storm and a few emergency radios, the noise proving too much emotionally for Rachel. She stiffened; Sam's embrace grew nearly fierce, his hands digging into her as he kept her close. His fingers pressed her head to his chest, his chin resting on the top to tuck her under his own.

"Is this it?" Rachel asked, hating the way the darkness scared her so much.

"Think so."

Rachel gasped loudly as debris crashed the upper level of the church, more pronounced in sound from where they sat. Sam tried to pull her even closer, shutting his eyes as the fierce weather howled in rage. He heard her sniffle, knowing she was trying to resist crying. "It's alright, sweetheart," he whispered, catching how she shuddered with a bit of relief at his recognition of her fear. "I'm right here."

Sam readjusted the blankets, keeping Rachel close as his lips brushed her cheek. She relaxed in his intimate, powerful embrace. He was literally sheltering her, keeping her close to keep her safe. It felt incredible—fiery hot and soothing all at once. Was he comfortable? Or was it awkward, given what their relationship was, and the state he was in only moments earlier? Was he just that nice of a guy? Did he only feel guilty?

The tornado above became nearly deafening, every loose object it could lift being hurled against the walls above them like an angry child throwing a tirade. It was terrifying. It made Rachel feel millimeters small. Blackness swallowed everything, only blips of people visible across from them. Still, his scent enveloped her, making her eyes flutter shut as she drew it in. Sam's arms wrapped fiercely around her, his fingers absentmindedly brushing her side above her hip, teasing close to her backside. His hot breath coasted over her cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest chasing away her nerves.

Rachel gasped softly as she felt Sam's lips sink down onto her forehead. He tenderly kissed her multiple times, making the ache within her grow. Everything about how they were screamed perfection. _He's just comforting me_ , she reminded herself. Still, as his mouth inched painstakingly across her skin, the warm want she felt only grew more fervently. "You're safe, baby girl," he whispered against her, sending a tingle down her spine. Despite the violent volume of the storm, his voice was all she heard. "I've got you."

Tears filled Rachel's eyes. Everything about his touch, his kiss, and his words made her ache for the truth. In his own way, he seemed to be confessing. She wanted to hear him actually say it, to own it, to tell her the truth of who they were. But she also didn't want to ruin the beautiful shelter he gave her. The words didn't matter in that moment. Closing her eyes, Rachel nestled against him, exhaling. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Stop thanking me," he instructed. His voice was firm but still tender.

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing," he smirked.

"Okay."

Sam wet his lips as he held her. "Last night," he began softly, feeling his nerves flare, "I said something I didn't mean. And I want you to know the truth."

Rachel swallowed hard, her own fears rising. What did he mean by that?

Before he could continue, a loud shout of realization from across the room filled the space. "Anna!" Jim said; Sam looked up from Rachel and saw him stand, though he was mostly shrouded in darkness. "What kind of car was he driving?"

Sam's nostrils flared as he realized he was the "he" Jim referred to. "A big black one," he heard Anna reply. "A long, older looking one."

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam quickly pulled Rachel to stand as he saw Jim move; she was more than confused. "Sam?" she asked softly, eyes wide at his sudden tension.

"Stay behind me," Sam instructed her, shoving her behind himself as Jim approached, the blankets that had been wrapped over her falling to the ground.

"What's wrong, Jim?" Anna asked, her desperate question nearly lost among the noise of the storm and the rising murmurs of the crowd.

Sam held out his arms and shielded Rachel behind himself as Jim moved closer. "That son of a bitch killed my cousin!" Jim snapped to Anna, drawing his gun and aiming at Sam.

A gasp flowed over the crowd, echoed by Rachel as Jim came dangerously close. Sam felt his heart race. "Easy," Sam said in a calm tone, his hands up as he kept Rachel back.

"You killed Greg," Jim snapped.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said, though he knew there was a possibility of being guilty. He and Dean had worked a couple cases not too far from where they were regarding demon possession.

"You were there that night," Jim growled. "At the lodge. Funny how you and your buddy didn't stick around for the police after the brawl."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam repeated, keeping his expression even. He did know what Jim was talking about, though. The demons were on a warpath through the town, killing teens who stupidly summoned them. Then they went to a bar in the next town over. He and Dean followed them there, managing to take most of them out before some exorcised themselves. They had tried to exorcise them, but some vessels had to be killed in brutal self defense. It was a bloody mess, a night neither of the brothers cared to relive. Taking a deep breath, Sam felt Rachel clutch his jacket from behind, immediately trying to think of how he was going to keep her safe.

"The hell you don't! I remember you. You were there! And you killed him, and a bunch of others. You sick bastard."

"Jim," another man shouted, briefly gaining his attention. "Come listen to this!"

Sam watched Jim back up a tiny bit, his aim still on him. Another man held up an emergency radio. Silence fell over the room as everyone listened. "The two suspects were last seen on Interstate 70 heading west, driving a vintage black Chevy Impala. The first suspect is a Caucasian woman between 21-30, approximately five feet tall with dark brown hair and brown eyes, weighing approximately 115lbs. The second suspect is a Caucasian male, approximately six feet two inches tall with long brown hair and hazel eyes, weighing approximately 220lbs. They are considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. If you have any information on them, please call your local police."

Sam's stomach lined with dread. Someone reported them from the blockage. Everyone's eyes focused on him and what little of Rachel they could see. "They say she killed two officers at a roadblock not too far from here," the man with the radio said with disgust.

"Sam," Rachel whispered, a shake to her voice. She felt more than sick. The human officer had died because of her. And now a mob was intent on killing them. "We have to run."

Sam kept his hands up, listening to the storm above them. To take her outside was near suicide. Not to mention how he would get her out there. But they had no choice, other than to pray he could talk Jim down. "It's not what you think," Sam told the crowd, his jaw ticking.

"Yeah right," Jim snarled. "He killed Greg! Him and his buddy! And she killed cops!"

"There was blood on her shirt," Anna said softly, looking at Sam and Rachel with disgust.

"Sam," Rachel said quickly and softly, "let me try to put them to sleep. Then we can make a break for it."

Her plan was definite suicide for her. She didn't have the strength to do that without damaging herself. "Look," Sam continued to the crowd, "those officers … they weren't what you think. They were demons."

"Demons," Jim repeated flatly.

Sam nodded, pained. "Yes. They were possessed. Like … Like Greg."

"Bullshit!" Jim snapped, cocking his gun. Sam saw others readied to take out their weapons. "He's insane!"

"We can prove it!" Rachel shouted, the room growing quiet as she stepped around Sam's back.

"Get back!" Sam hissed.

"I can prove that it's real," Rachel continued, taking another step away. She felt Sam's eyes boring into her, knowing he wasn't a fan of her vulnerability. "Because I'm … I'm an angel."

Sam kept his hands up, watching for the crowd's reaction. A moment of silence lingered before a mixture of callous laughter and confused murmurs erupted. "An angel?" Jim growled. "You're a psycho!"

"I have proof!" Rachel insisted, silencing everyone. "I can show you. If you will let me."

Sam's eyes widened. She was going to show them her grace. She'd recklessly burn herself dry without a second thought. "Rachel, no!" he begged.

"The cop killer is named Rachel!" a woman sneered.

"And he's Sam!" another agreed.

"I'm gonna try to call the police!" yet another man announced.

Jim scoffed, eyeing Rachel with disgust. "You little bitch. Show us? You gonna show me how you killed those officers?"

"Please," Rachel said, a desperation in her tone. She flicked her eyes to the crowd. "Is anyone here sick or injured?"

Jim stepped to Rachel as she tried to inch forward. "Stay there," he warned, shifting his aim on her. "You ain't touching anybody."

"Hey!" Sam growled. "Put the gun down!"

"Fine," Rachel said, ignoring Sam's obvious disagreement and opening her palm. She closed her eyes, focusing on what she wanted. _I want to restore the power._ Slowly, she reached out and touched the switchplate on the wall next to her. A spark charged from her hand; the crowd gasped as the lights flickered on overhead. They were weak, but holding as Rachel kept the connection. It singed her skin, and made her grimace.

"Rachel, stop!" Sam begged. She was in clear pain, and far too weak-she'd surely damaged herself, maybe even beyond what her reserve of grace could repair.

A surge of coolness rushed through Rachel's veins. She broke the connection, gasping as it clawed at her throat. It almost felt like a deep gash running up her from inside. She rested her hand on her neck as she backed toward Sam. "She's a freak," she heard other people murmur. "She's using witchcraft!"

Sam took hold of her and drew her close, terrified of her weakened look. "We don't want trouble. We'll leave," Sam said to Jim, keeping his tone and mannerisms as calm as possible.

Jim kept his aim on them. "You ain't going anywhere," he seethed. "You try, and I'll shoot her."

"Please," Sam replied with a pained look. "She's weak. Let her go at least. She didn't kill them. I did."

"That ain't true!" the man holding the radio shouted. "They got video of her using witchcraft on 'em. The little cop-killing bitch is guilty."

"Stay there," Jim warned, narrowing his eyes at Sam. "Somebody get the cops on the phone!" he barked to those behind himself.

Rachel fought the incredible searing burn in her throat, mustering up courage and strength as she silently flexed her fingers at her side. She couldn't leave it to chance. Jim wouldn't relent, nor would he likely wait for the police to take Sam. They would die.

Time slowed, as it seemed to when she used her powers. She felt every molecule of her being ignite in one final push of power. It flowed through her body like an icy current, the strength both scorching and frozen as it emanated from her fingertips. It ached ferociously, stealing every ounce of her strength, but she knew she had to suffer to keep them safe. She couldn't let Sam die.

Breaking away from Sam, Rachel lifted her hand, shutting her eyes as she focused. She couldn't repeat what happened on the highway. There, she hadn't taken the time to hone her power. She reacted out of pure fear. This time, she would make sure no one got hurt. A wave of iridescent blue light stretched from her fingers, widening over the entire room. It swept over the group, who gasped as they braced for pain. Instead, their bodies slumped down, their eyes shutting as they fell into a deep sleep. Jim, too, fell, his gun skittering away before he could get a shot off as he succumbed to her power.

Rachel broke the connection, sucking a deep breath of air to counteract the simultaneous fire and freezing of her veins. It didn't work. Instead, she felt worse, a fog settling over her head. The room swayed to her, even though she stood still. "He's okay?" Rachel asked Sam meekly, trying to avoid showing the damage she had done to herself as he checked Jim's pulse.

Sam nodded. "Just in a deep sleep." He straightened, examining her. Despite the still raging storm, her carelessness was his focus. "You shouldn't have done that," he said firmly as he approached.

His anger confused Rachel. She had helped without hurting anyone. "I got us a way out," she replied, defensiveness tainting her tone.

"It was dangerous," Sam continued. "He could've shot you!"

Rachel felt her anger build. "But he didn't. And everyone is fine, including you. And me."

Sam's brow wrinkled as he moved directly in front of her. "You're low on grace. You can't afford to make stupid moves."

"What's wrong with you?" Rachel demanded, her pulse quickening. "I _helped_ ," she insisted. Her voice rose, competing with the storm.

"It was reckless. I was handling it."

"Sorry I didn't ask your permission first!"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

"The point is, you could've died!"

"Yeah, but we were already about to die, Sam! I didn't see any better options!" Rachel shook her head. "I thought you'd be grateful. Instead, you're acting like a dick."

Sam scoffed. "Using that last bit of power wasn't safe or smart. I could've talked him down. Instead, you'd rather stupidly risk your life to prove something, just like you always do!"

Rachel's lips parted. Her pulse skyrocketed. The lightness in her head washed through her from her rapid heart rate. She swallowed hard against the powerful sway that wanted to overcome her. "'Like I always do?'" August's words immediately rang through her head; she heard him talk about "all she was good for," and how she was never anything more. And here was Sam, echoing it. It made her want to puke. "I thought you were different," she said softly, shaking her head.

Sam was taken back by her hurt. Then he remembered how Rachel recounted the story of her rape to August, hurt by his choice of words. A horrible guilt struck him, making him nauseous. "Rachel—"

"I'm an idiot," she scoffed. "You know what? You're right. I do 'always do something.' I always seem to pick the wrong guys." Her demeanor hardened, her hands tightening at her sides. "I guess this was a thorn in your side before I woke up," she said with disdain. "Don't worry. I'll save you the trouble and leave."

As she whirled around, the room spun unforgivingly. She didn't hear Sam as he called out to her, or the storm as it beat against the world above her. She didn't feel the cold linoleum against her cheek as she fell to the floor. All she felt was the lightness consuming her in a cool bath over her body as everything went black.


	117. Chapter 116

Heavy. Everything about her body felt heavy. Her eyelids felt like they weighed thousands of pounds. She could smell him, his cologne. He was next to her. Then she felt him, his warm, calloused fingertips brushing over her icy cold skin.

She wanted to push him away, to tell him to go fuck himself. She wanted to scream at him for the anger and rage he stirred within her. But she couldn't even find the strength to move her lips.

He remained, the cedar notes of his scent burning in her nostrils as the back of his hand found her forehead. She could feel the softness of sherpa under her hands, and hear the hiss and pop of a freshly stoked fire. Her body rested against a mattress that somehow felt familiar, slowly warmed by the flames burning nearby. It was a relief not to be pressed against him and his magnetic body.

Still, he wouldn't leave her alone. His fingers shifted to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She wanted to curse him out for his bold intimacy. Somehow, though, she also wanted more. Much more. Specifically to feel his lips on hers.

Why couldn't she fully hate him, like her brain begged her to? Why did she want his shelter? He was just like all the other men in her life—fine until she had dared to be herself with them. Then she became a burden. A hassle. A freak.

She felt her chest rise and fall with every steady breath she took. She also felt something wet drip onto her neck. Wet? It was confusing, a small drop of moisture. Rain. No. A tear.

Was he crying? The idea seemed to lighten her body an ounce at a time, slowly releasing her from her weighted prison. Guilt washed over her with memories of recent moments. He had been beaten and bruised for her, willing to give his life for her safety. He had taken the bullet she shot in him, yet he still came to her rescue. He would've taken another in the church too, if it came down to it.

Her anger remained, still very much needing to be addressed, but that could come later. What gave her the strength to open her eyes was the desire to ignore everything else and lose herself in him. She knew without a doubt that he wanted to as well. She could somehow hear it, like she was siphoning it from his own head.

Rachel slowly opened her eyes, finding Sam wiping his own with a careless swipe. It was clear he didn't see her. She watched him for a prolonged moment. He looked exhausted with worry. "Sam," she whispered, seeing his immediate shock as he focused on her. His usually vibrant hazel eyes were dulled and bloodshot. These weren't the first tears he shed since she collapsed.

Sam gasped, immediately cupping both sides of her face and pressing his lips to her cool forehead. "Oh God," he whispered against her skin. Rachel smelled saline on his cheeks. "Thank God." Kissing her again, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, sucking in and exhaling a shuddered breath of relief. A beat later, he surfaced with panic, immediately striking up a game of Twenty Questions. "How do you feel? Are you hurt? Is there pain? Are you cold? Do you need water? Are you—"

"Shut up, dufus," Rachel groaned, his frantic tone piercing her skull. "I'm fine. Just a monster headache and … I'm achy and cold. Like the flu. How long was I out?"

"Just about eight hours."

"Whoa."

"You passed out because you need grace," Sam concluded, a definite bitterness to his tone. Rachel almost challenged him on it, but then she remembered how he told her that grace had taken her away from him and Dean. Grace had ruined the good life she had with them. And grace would kill her again for good if she took too much. He had a right to be bitter.

"I can charge on my—" Before she could finish her compromise, a sharp jolt struck her head. She cowered into the pillow her head rested on, squeezing her eyes shut and wincing against it with a whimper.

When it lessened, she reopened her eyes and saw Sam digging in his bag on the floor. He returned to her bedside with the glowing vial. "A sip at a time," he instructed softly, kneeling down next to the bedside. "We stop as soon as you feel good enough to function. Deal?"

Rachel scanned his eyes. He was evidently worried about her overdosing. She didn't take offense to the limits he set, knowing he must have been terrified to be the one to give her the substance that could kill her humanity for good. She gave him a nod, watching him draw in a deep, hesitant breath. It was then she noticed he was in a plain navy tee shirt instead of his flannel. It hugged around his biceps, making her wish for the strength of his arms and their safety as they wrapped around her.

Slowly, Sam twisted off the top of the vial, holding it near Rachel's mouth. The mist traveled to her lips, entering without any effort on her part. Sam capped the vial and watched like a hawk, relieved to see a tiny bit of color return to her cheeks. Rachel took a few more sips before she gave a slight nod. Sam quickly plugged the vial shut for good, taking note of the remaining contents. It was about a quarter full.

He rested the vial back in his bag. "How are you now?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he brushed the hair from her eyes with protective tenderness.

"I feel sorry," she whispered back, seeing his confusion. "Sorry for what I did back there."

"Don't be," Sam urged. "If anyone is going to be sorry, it's me." He sighed, resting his hand on the mattress next to her blanket-covered thigh. "I was so scared you'd … And then when you passed out, I thought I'd lost …" He couldn't finish either sentence.

"You've done nothing but help me," she insisted.

"Still, I didn't have a right to take out my fear on you." He scanned her eyes. "It's … always been my problem," he admitted.

"What has?"

"Letting you put yourself on the line," Sam explained. He sighed. "I was never good at letting you take risks. Guess I'm still not."

Rachel saw the deep ache he carried in his body, his shoulders slumped as he spoke about their past. "You said before I was a hunter," she began softly; he kept his focus on the floor. "Was I a crap one?"

Sam laughed through his nose, shaking his head. "Not in the slightest. You were amazing. Resilient. Strong. Smart. I just …" He dared to look into her eyes. "I just have never been as strong as you, when it came down to the risk you faced."

"Because you cared," she concluded softly.

"Because I care," he corrected, holding her gaze.

Rachel shifted her focus to her hands as she played with the thick tan blanket over her body. _Care_. Even with the loss of her identity, he still cared. Yet, his burst of anger at her risk proved he still wasn't able to let go of the Rachel he once knew, even though she wasn't that woman anymore.

A moment of silence rested between them. Rachel took note of the woodsy decor around her. It was far too homey to be a motel. "Where are we?"

"The only safe place I know that isn't Kansas," Sam replied. "We're at a friend's cabin."

"The car made it?"

"Yeah, thankfully. I didn't want to head west to home, because of the storm. And I figured the demons would head that way. So, I came here."

"Where is here?"

"Minnesota."

"Minnesota?" Rachel was surprised. It must have been well past dinner time. Her stomach growled at just the idea.

"I doubt the demons would chase us all the way up here from Missouri," Sam reasoned. "The cabin is warded, anyway. We should be okay."

"Okay." Rachel wasn't listening, though. The mention of Missouri immediately brought back the roadblock in vivid detail. She remembered how it felt, the power emanating from her fingertips. She hadn't meant to lose control. Her fear took over, somehow gasoline to the flames of what now was a permanent resident of her being. The terror she felt on the highway created a horrid disaster, a sickening tragedy. She took a life. An innocent life. A life that hadn't already been taken by demons. She killed someone.

Sam saw how pained Rachel looked. He knew what she had done at the roadblock must've been on her mind. "What happened back there," he began carefully, seeing her shift in expression, "it's not your fault."

Rachel scoffed. "How can you say that? I killed a man!"

"It's …" Sam stopped, remembering when "his" Rachel lost control of her angelic powers and killed demons. She felt just as guilty then. But Sam had tried to remove the guilt, only causing agony between them. "I'm sorry," he finally said, seeing her brow arch as she looked at the blanket on her lap. "I'm sorry you have to have that burden on you. But you need to know that it was an accident. You're not a murderer." He dared to take her hand, covering it with his own. "Talk to me," he urged.

Her lip quivered before she began a feeble attempt at expressing her emotions. "I … I feel awful. I didn't … I didn't mean to … I took someone's life." She blinked, hot tears running down her face as she looked up at him. "I killed someone."

Nodding gently, Sam carefully wiped her tears away. "I know that guilt," he replied, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I know that fight. I wouldn't wish it for anyone. Especially you. I'm sorry."

Rachel closed her eyes and drank in his touch, letting it heal a tiny portion of her battered heart. His calloused thumb was steady against her skin, gently sweeping away any remaining drops of moisture.

Silent tension blossomed in the room; Rachel opened her eyes, her chest clenching as she saw the raw pain and exhaustion in Sam's eyes. "You need sleep," she murmured, feeling herself lean into his touch.

"I'm alright." His smile was forced as he reluctantly withdrew his hand. "I've got soup on the stove for you."

"Just rest," Rachel gently argued.

"I'm getting you food," he insisted, standing. "You need to eat. You haven't eaten anything besides that protein bar this morning. Be right back."

Before she could object, he was gone. With a sigh, Rachel looked around the cabin bedroom. It was warm and rustic, as she'd expect it to be. There were plentiful amounts of plaid in pillows and soft blankets, and a pair of antlers mounted above the fireplace. It would have been a cozy getaway place with a lover.

 _A lover_. Before she woke, she felt convinced she could hear Sam's thoughts. And one of them stuck out. He wanted to kiss her. Desperately. It made an aching heat blaze through her. She needed him. She wanted to feel whole. The world had changed so much in a matter of days, yet he was constant shelter. She craved more of it, hungry to taste it in full. Would he resist if she gave him the opportunity?

Sam brought in a bowl on a tray, setting it to the side on the bureau, then approached the bed. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he was determined to care for her. It made Rachel feel guilty. "Here," he said with a soft smile, "I'll help you up." Before she could object, Sam lifted her gently under her arms, helping her to sit up. "Hold onto me." She braced herself by clinging to his thick biceps, feeling them flex under her fingers as he worked to prop pillows against the headboard behind her. "Alright, here we go." He lifted her and seated her back against the cushions with ease, releasing her when she was stable. She was more than disappointed to let go of his arms and have it replaced by a tray. Though, the tray had hot chicken soup on it. Her stomach seemed to appreciate that more.

Rachel picked up the spoon set for her, stirring it as he backed away. "Thank you," she said softly.

"It's canned," Sam said with obvious anxiety. "I'm sorry, it's all that was in the pantry."

Her brow wrinkled. "Why are you sorry? Was it moldy?"

"No, I just … would want something better for you."

His worry over the soup was both endearing and sad. "I've eaten less and worse under normal circumstances before," she assured gently. "This is perfect. Thank you."

Sam nodded, forcing a smile after clearing his throat. "I'll, uh, be right back."

Rachel watched him leave. He was so tense, it was nearly unbearable. She pushed her soup around, eating only to silence her stomach. But the more she thought about Sam, the smaller her appetite became. He must have been sick over Robbie and Dean. And here he was, nursing her back to health while she thought about being wrapped in his arms, imagining his lips over her skin. It was horrible. Her guilt left her nauseous. She set the half-full bowl of soup aside, looking to the opposite wall at the door. She had to apologize.

Rachel swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing to her feet. The room swayed, and she clutched the nightstand for support. Closing her eyes, she tried to figure out if flopping backward into bed or trying to push on was better. Before she could, Sam was there, his grip tight as he held her. "Easy," he urged. "You still need to get your strength back."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said in a shuddered whisper, searching his eyes.

"It's okay," Sam insisted, confused as he saw her forming tears. "I'm not mad. I just want you to be safe." He paused, shaking his head when her expression got worse. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he urged.

Rachel swallowed hard. "I've made a huge mess, and you've done nothing but clean it up. I mean, you have to be sick over Robbie and Dean, and you're stuck here taking care of me."

Wordlessly, Sam guided Rachel back to the bed, sitting her down and drawing the blankets over her lap as she pressed her back against the headboard with a shudder. "Robbie and Dean are home," Sam said with a tender smile; it grew as he saw her surprise. He stroked her cheek, unable to help tucking her hair behind her ear as he sat on the mattress edge next to her. "I got service while you were asleep. Mom, Cas … everyone's okay. No reason to worry."

Relief washed over Rachel at the news. "Oh thank God," she breathed, her eyes shutting against his touch.

"The only person I'm worried about is you," he finished, tracing over her skin as he sat next to her.

She opened her eyes. "I'm fine. I promise. Just tired."

"You don't … feel …?"

"I feel normal." Rachel saw the relief her admission brought, a visible lift evident.

"Good," Sam murmured.

Neither spoke, yet maintained eye contact. Rachel leaned forward, bridging the small distance between them. She swore she heard Sam's breath hitch. His face looked pained, almost conflicted. Was he? Was he trying to avoid the obvious for a reason?

Just before she could trap his hand against her face, he pulled it back with an awkward urgency. She could see his fear rising to the surface, the same wall he kept constructing ever since she woke up in the bunker rising once again. He stood, clearing his throat. "I'm, uh …" He drew in a breath, giving her a smile. "I'm going to go check the wardings. You should sleep. Just call out if you need anything."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her as Sam quietly left the room. Exhaling, Rachel flicked off the bedside lamp and laid back down. She stared at the off white ceiling, listening to the fire as it sizzled over the dry wood. Why was he running from her? His conflicting messages were driving her insane. All she wanted was an answer. Still, she felt her eyes grow heavy, relentless in their pursuit of rest. He said sleep is the fastest way to recover the balance of grace. When she woke, she would confront him. Rachel let her eyes close, her body gradually melting into the depth of the mattress with a frustrated sigh.

* * *

The light was dim in the room when Rachel woke. The fire flickered beside her, though much smaller than it was before. The hot embers glowed a beautiful rust orange hue, the flames happily licking a small log that looked like it was just added not too long before.

Rachel drew in a deep breath and sat up. She was relieved when the room stayed still and didn't sway like a top. Physically, she felt much better. The combination of food, sleep, and grace had helped tremendously.

With a stretch, she stood, looking to the closed door. She wasn't sure where the bathroom was, but she needed to find out. Cracking it open, Rachel peered into the hallway and spotted a door slightly ajar. She headed for it, her sock covered feet quiet over the wood floor as she crossed to it. Using a careful touch, she pushed the door open further, relieved it was indeed the bathroom and not the room Sam must've been using. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him up if he was finally asleep.

When she was finished, Rachel turned off the bathroom light and left the door as she found it. It was significantly cooler in the hall than her room had been, cool enough to get goosebumps. She began for the bedroom but stopped suddenly. A flicker of light caught her eye; she looked over her shoulder toward the source, seeing the faint glow. A TV? A shiver washed over her from the cool air, and she nipped at her lip. Sam had to have been in the main living space watching television. Was he asleep out there? _Leave him be_ , she tried to convince herself. _You've done enough damage_.

Nodding her head to herself, Rachel resumed heading for the door when a noise stopped her again. Her brow furrowed as she turned and listened. It was nearly heartbreaking. Her lips parted in surprise at what she heard, not realizing she was inching closer to the living room.

She stood in the archway, her heart beating faster as she saw Sam awkwardly propped on the couch. He was fully clothed, boots and all. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the morning sun just beginning to peek through the horizon, the light trickling in and highlighting the coffee table. His gun rested on it, along with an angel blade and a bottle of clear liquid. _Vodka?_ It didn't seem to fit. _Water? … Holy water._ He was prepared for demons. Rachel moved closer, the sound she heard him make more pronounced. "No," Sam murmured again in his sleep, his head twisting to the opposite side with a suddenness as it rested against the sofa. It made Rachel pause for a moment. He kept repeating the word, his body growing more restless, his voice more desperate. Whatever nightmare he was having, it was doing a number to him.

Rachel carefully kneeled on the space on the couch next to him, hesitantly reaching toward Sam as he thrashed. The instant her hand made contact with his face, Sam bolted out of his sleep, grabbing her wrist with a graveled shout. "No!" He yanked her partially on his lap as he glared at her, lips parted, teeth nearly bared. It instantly reminded her of Alex, how he looked just before she shot him. A chill crept up her spine, his fingers nearly lethal around her wrist.

Rachel watched through the glow of the television as Sam's expression slowly shifted. His grip loosened, though she dare not move. He kept hold of her—she wasn't sure if it was because he still thought she was the enemy, or if he simply didn't want to. Wetting his lips, he shuddered an exhale. "Rachel," he murmured. With realization, he freed her wrist as if the touch burned him, shaking his head. "Oh God," he breathed, terrified, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she insisted gently, remaining partially on his lap. She couldn't lie-her pulse had skyrocketed from his darkened power, her heart slamming in her chest as she looked at him. "Are you okay?" she asked, feeling tears threaten her eyes. She had never seen anyone look so tormented from a dream, or anyone fighting so hard to hide it.

Sam nodded vigorously. "Just … a, um, nightmare."

He seemed more than focused on her. She saw how his face was creased with unresolved worry. It was as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing. "It's okay," she repeated, inching closer. She was nearly fully on him, balancing on his thighs as she stroked his cheek with a quivering hand. The words seemed to come out of her mouth making little sense to her, but feeling exactly right for him. "I'm real. I promise."

Rachel watched Sam's broad chest rise and fall, his own breath seeming to be as scant as hers felt. The sparks that had lingered between them gathered into a ball of electric energy that was nearly ready to burst. "You're okay," he repeated back, a sort of blank look in his eyes.

"Yeah," she replied, pained by the idea of his nightmare involving her. "I'm okay."

He nodded. His jaw flexed as he closed his eyes, letting her fingers stroke his cheek. He had to absorb the truth she was telling him. She was safe. Arioch was dead. She survived. Opening his eyes, he was relieved the image of Rachel in front of him was no longer spilling blood from her stomach, like she had when he stabbed her to kill the Watcher that invaded her body. Instead, she was real, warm. Her body was whole, clothed, and resting on him. It was a dream. Yet another dream about the goddamned farmhouse. They hadn't stopped since that afternoon, when he found her half naked and beaten, tied to a pole.

Realization washed over him—this Rachel knew nothing of the horrors she endured with Arioch, Vance, or Lucifer. It was a blessing she didn't. And if she never was restored, he would never tell her about it. She had untangled herself from a deadly web he'd forever be trapped in, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Why are you sleeping out here?" Rachel asked, bringing Sam's focus back to the present.

"I, uh, don't … really fit on the twin bed," he replied quietly.

Rachel swallowed down the lump that wanted to linger in her throat. _Ask him_ , she tried to convince herself. _Ask him to come to yours_. Still, she couldn't. She clammed up, her hand lowering from his bearded cheek. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't," she noted softly.

Sam looked her over, his brow wrinkled. "You okay? Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh … I woke up to use the bathroom, then heard you when I came out."

Nodding, he swallowed hard. "Ah."

She studied his eyes, seeing the thin veil covering his thoughts. "Want to talk about it?" she offered.

"No," he said gently. "But not because of you," he quickly clarified, seeing the twinge of hurt in her eyes. "I trust you implicitly. It's just something that …" Pausing, he sighed. "It was a memory of your life with us before. Something … something I'd rather take with me to the grave than to taint you with."

His admission made Rachel both nauseous and curious. Sam's nightmare was something that deeply affected him. And it was about her. She desperately wanted to know the contents, but respected his choice not to share. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, feeling defeated. Not only was she responsible for the mess she made over the last few days, but for things that apparently were enough to scar Sam mentally. "I'm sorry that I-"

Sam reached to her and hooked her chin between his thumb and index finger, silencing her. He leaned in closer and gently tilted her head up, drinking in the sight of her eyes. "Listen to me," he instructed with tender firmness. "Stop apologizing. Right now. There's not a damn thing about what I dreamt that's your fault. Not a single one. So don't you dare blame yourself for anything. Even for the nightmare. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied, barely hearing herself over the wild thump of her heart.

Rachel expected Sam to left go of her chin. Instead, he kept hold of her, his gaze boring into her. He even seemed to move closer. The longer he studied her, the harder it became for her to feel at ease. She shifted on his lap, her lips parting at his tense silence. Seconds felt like hours, time passing through a sieve; she swore she'd go deaf from the assaulting drum of her pulse in her ears.

"You should rest," Sam finally said softly, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips. His hand dropped from her chin, as if he just realized what he was doing.

"You should too," Rachel countered, remaining on his lap. She was nearly fully on it; she shifted, her palm coming to rest instinctively on his chest as she steadied herself. Her fingers flexed over him, feeling the drumming of his heart. His body was so warm, so magnetic. _Ask him_ , dammit.

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Rachel's stomach tightened at his silence; it felt impossible to move backward off of him. She held her breath as he tucked some of her hair behind her ear, seeing the smile that wanted to form on his lips. As if he was fighting the need to lose himself in her safety, just like she was with his. "I'll be alright," he replied softly, smoothing the hair he combed to perfection.

"I'm worried about you," she admitted.

"Don't be," he urged back, still stroking her.

"I can't help it. You need good rest, and this can't be comfortable."

Rachel's lips parted as Sam threaded both hands through her hair, holding her head steady as he searched her eyes. "It's perfect right now," he replied, holding her gaze.

 _Oh fuck_ , Rachel thought. She held her breath as Sam sat up closer. He leaned in, his nose grazing hers as he cradled her head. His heated breath coasted over her skin. There was a definite pause; a pin dropping could've been heard. Neither moved for a long moment. "I lied," Sam finally whispered, his lips brushing hers. "You were more than just a friend."

Afraid to move, Rachel kept still in his hold and replied, "What was I?"

Sam smiled against her; it made heat blaze through her. "My everything."

With urgency, he trapped her lips, a heady groan rumbling in his throat. The ball of energy between them exploded into an undeniable white-hot fire. Sam kept Rachel close as they kissed, his grip possessive. She tasted so sweet, so achingly good. And he was starving for her.

Their union nearly took Rachel's breath away. She couldn't get enough of him, and it didn't seem like he wanted to ever stop. His hold, his hands, and his supple mouth were more than familiar. _I was his_ , she repeated in her head, threading her fingers through his hair as she welcomed his mouth on hers. _His everything_. It felt more than right. It _was_ right.

Sam's growing carnal power and control made Rachel temporarily stunned; her eyes rolled shut as she let Sam devour her lips, then her cheek and down to her jaw and neck. She clung to him as his hands roamed over her back and skimmed down her hips, his teeth scraping against her skin as he suckled her neck with a hungry growl.

With suddenness, Rachel pulled herself away a bit and cried out in pain. Sam yanked back, immediately panicked as he looked her over. "Rachel!" he urged, holding her as she squirmed and fought his hold, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?!"

"No," she breathed.

Before she said anymore, she nearly screamed again. Sam's pulse shot through the roof. "Talk to me," he pleaded.

"It hurts!" she shuddered.

"What does?"

"My chest!" She yelped, trying to push Sam away. He kept a tight hold of her, afraid she would hurt herself further.

"Easy, baby girl," he urged, trying to soothe her, holding her arms down.

"I don't want to hurt you!" Rachel pleaded.

"You're not," Sam assured. "Don't hurt yourself. Just breathe. Tell me what it feels like."

Rachel swallowed hard, barely seeing him through her tears as she opened her eyes into small slants. "Like … someone is … ripping through my body," she managed.

 _Her soul_ , Sam concluded. Dean had said it was freed. It was trying to enter her being, but unable to because of the one already there. "Listen to me," he said, trying to maintain a calm voice, "I'm going to ask Castiel to bring you back to the bunker. He will be able to help you."

"You're …" Rachel strained against the searing tear she felt through her. "You're not coming?"

"I won't be far behind," he assured.

"Please," she begged, clinging to his arm, "please don't leave me."

"Baby, I need you to be safe," Sam urged, his heart breaking. "And you'll be safe with Castiel."

"What's happening to me?" Rachel asked, her eyes glassy with tears.

Sam drew in a breath. "Your original soul was recovered," he admitted. Her shock was more than evident. "It's trying to enter its host. You. But it can't, because-"

"Because my new one is there," she concluded.

"Castiel can block it if you don't want it back," Sam continued.

Before she could answer, Rachel screamed again, sobbing against the tear she felt ripping through her body. "Castiel!" Sam shouted, more than pained and desperate. "Cas! Please!" He kept her close, holding her as she fought against the pain. It felt like hours ticked by as he watched her struggle, more than helpless to fight what was hurting her. "I've got you," he whispered. "You're okay. You're going to be fine."

Castiel finally flashed into the cabin, trying to adjust to what he saw through the darkness of the room. Rachel looked wild, nearly feral, while Sam held her on his lap, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Help her," Sam begged, taking yet another swatted punch from Rachel.

"I can feel the energy," Castiel agreed. "Her soul is failing to re-enter."

"Put her to sleep!" Sam demanded as Rachel's cries pierced his ears.

"The soul won't be able to enter," Castiel countered.

"I don't care! She's in pain!"

Sam sighed in relief when Castiel touched two fingers to her forehead, supporting Rachel as she slumped against him. His breath came in pants, his heart still like a jackhammer in his chest. He pressed his face into her hair, shuddering as he drew in her scent, trying to calm himself.

Castiel took a breath. "It's gone. Or it's not trying to enter her, at least. Likely because she's asleep."

Sam looked up from Rachel's limp body lying against him to Castiel, who stood in front of the television he had forgotten was even on. "Wait, so, how does it work?"

"First, we need to remove her current soul," Castiel replied. "Then we can see if the old one re-routes itself."

"'We can see?'" Sam was livid. "What the hell do you mean, 'We can see?'"

"Sam," Castiel reasoned, "this isn't an exact science. I've never experienced this before with anyone. I'm assuming the soul won't rest until it finds her body again."

"An assumption isn't good enough!" Sam argued. "If we remove her soul, we essentially lose her for good if the old one doesn't return. And what if another angel captures it?! Then what?!"

"It's all we have," Castiel shot back. "But I do know she has to be awake to receive it."

Sam scoffed. "So, she has to experience agony?"

"Unfortunately."

Shutting his eyes, Sam kept Rachel close, hating the idea more and more with each passing moment. "I can't let her suffer," he said, shaking his head.

"She can't return to herself if you don't," Castiel argued. "We can bind her. So she doesn't flail."

"Bind her," Sam muttered. "Fucking perfect."

"Should I take her back to the bunker?"

Digging his fingers into her, Sam kept Rachel close. "Yeah, I guess." He pulled away from Castiel as the angel went to take her. "Just … Don't put her in the dungeon."

"It's safest down there," Castiel replied.

"Safest for who?" Sam eyed him. "No dungeon. Our room. Got it?"

Castiel nodded, approaching the couch. Sam hoisted Rachel up as he stood, shifting her body so he cradled her. With hesitance, he transferred her into Castiel's arms, pained as he watched him disappear.


	118. Chapter 117

**_S14 E5 "Nightmare Logic" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I might have named some unnamed people from the episodes, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

Castiel landed with Rachel in the maps room. The early morning bunker traffic stopped at their arrival. A few people looked as they passed, their brows arched. It was no secret since Mary revealed that Rachel had taken grace again that the majority of people were afraid-especially after seeing the news reports from Missouri.

Bobby stopped packing bullets at the table and lifted his chin, watching Castiel with a careful eye as the angel turned toward the hall. Mary looked up, then to Castiel, her lips parting. "Is she okay?" she asked, standing from her seat.

"Asleep," Castiel replied, looking between the two. "Her soul attempted to re-enter."

"And you had to put her to sleep?" Bobby asked, brow arched. "Why?"

Castiel didn't miss the contempt lingering in his voice. "It's a painful process."

"So let me guess, she hurt Sam."

"Sam ... decided it was best for her at the moment."

Bobby scoffed. "Or best for everyone else," he concluded, partially under his breath. "Because she's trouble."

"Bobby," Mary warned, temporarily silencing him. She watched as Castiel silently headed for the bedrooms, sighing deeply. "She didn't mean to hurt him, I'm sure," she said to Bobby, knowing the hunter was thinking about the news broadcast they all saw on repeat.

"She shot your son, Mary," Bobby reminded her. "She _killed_ a man by throwing him into a tree!"

"She was scared."

"Soul or no soul, that girl's head hasn't been right since she took the grace in Philadelphia," Bobby argued back in a hushed tone. "Look," he said, cutting Mary off before she could object, "if I'm the only one who's gonna say it, then I will. I know Sam cares for her, but taking away her juice was supposed to make her safe. Ain't nothing safe about how she shot him, and there definitely ain't nothing safe about her having juice again. Not when she's already killed people and hurting her own fiancé."

"It was an accident," Mary insisted, receiving a scowl from Bobby.

"Taking a man's life? You can't write that off as an 'oops,' Mary."

"And you never made a mistake?"

"Not one that involved getting a cop killed!"

"She's likely already beating herself up for it, so be gentle." Mary lifted her hand as Bobby went to speak. "Her world has literally been stolen from her, and replaced with one she doesn't know, and powers she hasn't ever honed. Give her time."

"Time," Bobby muttered.

"She's family," Mary reminded him stiffly.

Shaking his head, Bobby sighed, letting it die for the time being. "Well, while I'm giving her 'time,' want to come help me rack supplies? These youngins aren't as skilled at organization as they are at texting."

Mary drew in a deep breath, managing a soft smile after she exhaled. "Sure."

Bobby let her go down the steps first, glancing over his shoulder toward where Castiel disappeared to. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. Sam was making a huge mistake writing off what she did. Despite his position as the leader, Bobby didn't any longer trust Sam's judgment. And they didn't have "time," like Mary wanted. He would have to be on the lookout with Rachel around. Time and trust were the last things he had for her.

* * *

Sam sighed as he entered the bunker. It felt good to stretch his legs after the six hour ride back. He made his way down the stairs, impressed how no one seemed to miss a beat as they greeted him while working. "Chief," a hunter named Tom said, pausing as Sam crossed to him.

Sam gave him a nod, becoming concerned at Tom's solemn expression. "What is it?"

"Uptick in demon activity since yesterday," Tom reported. "Seem to be heading southwest toward us."

"Following us," Sam sighed, rubbing his brows. "Alright, where are we at with teams?"

"Rick took a group to Oklahoma as soon as he got back. Tracking a possible group of rawheads."

"In the storm?!"

"He insisted. They're good, though. They just checked in about twenty minutes ago. And his wife is with Patti and Steve."

Sam sighed. "Alright. Who does that leave us with?"

"Me, Bobby, Julie, and Chris. Plus you, your mom, Dean, and Castiel."

"He took Jack?"

Tom nodded. "Jack insisted, since Maggie was going."

Before he could reply, Sam caught sight of Robbie as he teleported in. "Dad!" the boy squealed as he ran to him.

Sam took Robbie into his arms, lifting him up and pressing him close with a shuddered sigh. His tears were barely at bay as he kissed the top of his son's head. "I missed you so much," he whispered, unwilling to let the boy go.

"I missed you too, Dad," Robbie replied, though his voice was muffled into Sam's shirt.

Flicking his eyes up toward the motion he caught across from him, Sam saw Dean standing in the archway. He smiled, trying to keep the tears back. "Hey," he said, laughing a bit.

Dean smiled. "Hey." He crossed the distance, wrapping his brother in a hug, giving him a pat on the back.

Sam shook his head, unable to formulate a whole thought through his emotions. "Dean, I … What you did—"

"She's family, Sammy," Dean assured his brother softly. "I'd do it all over again for her."

"Hey, I'm getting squished in here!" Robbie said with a laugh.

Ruffling his nephew's hair, Dean released Sam from their embrace, watching with a smile as Sam gave the boy another kiss on the head. "Your kid is badass," he smirked.

"Had you fooled, didn't I, Uncle Dean?" Robbie smirked back as he looked at his uncle.

"Sure did, buddy."

"Do I want to know what you're talking about?" Sam asked, brow arched.

"I fought a bunch of Guardians!" Robbie exclaimed, eyes wide. His excitement was nearly tangible. "And I ate some beushim berries."

"Beushim berries?" Sam looked to Dean. "He had beushim berries?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, hands up. "He didn't clear it with me."

"It's okay, Dad," Robbie urged. "I'm fine. I pooped them out. And I only grew like a year, so we're good!"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "And for that, I'm glad. Still, I don't want to know the scary parts of your trip with Uncle Dean just yet."

Dean saw the look in his brother's eyes. "How's Rach?" he asked gently.

Shaking his head, he looked down, his hands tightening around Robbie. "It's a mess," he admitted.

"Does Mom have her soul back?" Robbie asked.

Sam wet his lips, delaying a reply. "No. Not yet."

"But she will, right?"

"That's the plan."

Tom cleared his throat with gentle suggestiveness; Sam looked back to him, immediately apologetic. He forgot he was even there, or that he was talking to him. "Sorry," Sam said, drawing in a breath as he set Robbie down and straightened. "Alright, so … uh … how many does that leave us with for the demons?"

"Eight of us," Tom replied.

"And me," Ketch added, approaching from the library, much to Sam's disgust.

"Thought you had a plane to catch," Sam said, trying to hold back his hatred for him, if even for one moment.

"I do," Ketch replied. "But not for another week from now at least. The tornado your son whipped up did quite a number to the area airports."

"I didn't mean to," Robbie argued back, narrowing his eyes at Ketch a bit. He looked like the spitting image of his father.

"Lovely," Ketch muttered to himself. "There are two Sams now."

Sam resisted grumbling at the revelation of Ketch's prolonged stay. Instead, he looked back to Tom. "Keep an eye on their movement. And let's get a couple people on tightening up the wardings."

"You got it," Tom nodded, slipping away toward the lower supply level with the other hunters.

"Can I go help?" Robbie asked; he looked up at Sam eagerly as Tom waited for a reply.

Sam nodded after a moment. "Just be careful."

Robbie grinned. "I will! Thanks, Dad!" He dashed toward Tom, who walked with him to the lower level.

"Want me to go keep an eye on him?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "He'll be alright."

"Well, look at you," Dean smirked. "Letting the birds out of the cage."

"Trying," Sam replied, barely keeping back his eye roll at Dean's teasing.

Dean stretched with a yawn. "Yeah, well I'm gonna go try to nap. I'm exhausted from that other plane of existence crap. Apparently that's normal, being human and all. And Cas said I might not poop right for about a week."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, didn't need to know that." He sighed with a laugh as he watched Dean leave. He felt Ketch looking at him; he turned, confirming it. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"I was merely seeing if you needed my help," Ketch said, arching a brow. "You alright?"

Shutting his eyes, Sam sighed. Despite how he loathed Ketch, he couldn't afford to be blinded. Not when demons were near. "Yeah," he replied with a sniff, looking away. "Sorry. Didn't really sleep the last couple days."

Ketch nodded. "I shouldn't think so. An awful lot happened."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure did."

"I take it Rachel's here to stay this time?"

"That's the hope."

With hesitation, Ketch stepped closer. "You know, just as there are ways to brainwash someone, there are potential avenues for jump starting core memories."

Sam looked back to him. "Her soul's been replaced," he reminded. "They're gone."

"Not entirely. It's a muddled gray area at best, Sam. Sure, one's social or emotional identity is linked to the soul, but the brain is quite a powerful catalog of physical experiences. Perhaps with a bit of coercion, the information pathways could be restored."

"And by coercion, you mean what, exactly?"

"Well, there are a number of serums that could assist in opening those channels. And, of course, there is always shock therapy."

Sam scoffed. "You want to electrocute her?"

"It's merely a suggestion," Ketch reminded him. "The Men Of Letters did devise ways for finding truths, which could be utilized to find her own truths."

"Yeah," Sam said stiffly, "but I'm not shocking my fiancee's brain."

Ketch nodded. "Of course. If you'll excuse me, I'll go assist packing more bullets."

Immediately, Sam felt like a dick. Despite his hatred for Ketch, at that moment, he seemed genuine. "Ketch," he called out, gaining Ketch's attention. "Uh, thanks. For the suggestions."

Ketch gave him another nod, then disappeared into the same stairwell that led to the lower work quarters. Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking around. Where was Rachel? With the others?

As if she read his thoughts, Mary sighed as she came up the stairs. "She hasn't left her room, that I know of," she reported as she approached Sam, seeing his internal worry on his face. "Castiel said she woke not too long after he got her here. I know she hasn't eaten."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Is she sick?"

Mary drew in a hesitant breath. "More like … feeling awkward, I'd imagine."

Sam shut his eyes. "They're afraid of her again, aren't they?"

"You can't blame them for their hesitation," Mary said. "She did shoot you. Not to mention Missouri—"

"She was tricked, and scared," Sam snapped. "And Missouri was a raw deal. She didn't mean what happened. She's not a murderer."

"It's a lot to ask of people, Sam," Mary insisted. "They don't know her like you do."

"They know her just as well as anyone else," he argued back. "She's done _nothing_ to make them like this to her."

"She nearly killed you. And she _did_ kill another man!"

"That was-"

"I know," Mary interrupted, her voice firm. "But you can't possibly expect people to not have reservations. It's unfair to them." She stopped him before he could continue. "Just … Just give it time. She'll find her place."

"Did you?" Sam asked coolly. "Did you find your place when you first came back? Or did you go off on your own? Because _that's_ what's going to happen here if they don't start treating her like a human being, and not some monster. She deserves far better than that. Especially from hunters." He shook his head, his energy building in his gestures as he grew more impassioned. "Mom, I can't risk her leaving. Because being who she is, the demons and angels will never stop hunting her. And she doesn't have the skills she once did." He scoffed. "And-And then, if she's gone, then Robbie and Dean risked their lives in vain, and then Robbie will lose her as his mother, and I'll-" He stopped, swallowing hard. It was all too much. Between the delicate balance of keeping Rachel at the bunker, and knowing Rachel and Robbie were soon to be highly sought targets in the center of an angelic imprint, plus not sleeping, Sam couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.

Taking a deep breath, Sam went to leave the room. Mary snagged his arm, making him pause. He kept his focus on the floor. "You need to rest," she urged softly. "We _will_ figure this out. I promise you."

Sam gave her a half-hearted nod, mostly so she'd let go. When she did, he continued out of the room, heading for the bedrooms. He had to fix the damage everyone's fears had done.

When he came to his door, he knocked softly, leaning in to listen. It was silent. "Rachel?" he asked quietly. When she didn't answer, fear swirled within; he opened it and peered into the room. It was dark, the bedside light off. Dread built as he saw the flatness of the bed. She was small, but he would still see her if she was in there. Flicking on the lamp, he saw the bed was empty. "Shit," he growled, stalking out of the room. He went to the showers, finding them vacant, and all the other unoccupied bedrooms empty.

Panicked, Sam burst into the library, finding the hunter Julie with another named Chris. "Have you seen Rachel?" he asked, a rough edge to his voice.

"Uh, not lately. She asked where the archives were earlier, though," Julie replied softly, clearly uncomfortable at the mention of Rachel.

Sam barely got out a "thanks" before he tore off downstairs two levels for the archives. The lights were on leading up to it, which comforted him. "Rachel?" he called out.

"In here," she called back, though she seemed distracted.

Sam opened up the archives, relieved when he saw Rachel surrounded by stacks of books. She sat solemnly at a table, one opened in front of her. "What are you doing down here?" Sam asked as he approached. It was far cooler in the room, the heater not running.

Rachel looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Their passionate kiss and his loving touch immediately played through her mind's eye. Sam said she was his everything, and for that moment in the cabin, she wanted to believe it was possible. Now, she knew better. Someone like her would never be meant for that kind of happiness. "Just, uh, reading about …" She blew out a breath as he stopped next to her. "Reading about nephilims," she admitted.

Sam squatted down next to her; he could see the way her eyes were red that she had been crying. "Reading what, exactly, about nephilims?" he asked gently. He knew what those books contained frontwards and backwards. They were his primary reading material when he first found out that Rachel was a nephilim while she was pregnant with Robbie.

"Stuff," she replied noncommittally.

Reaching up, Sam closed the book in front of her. "I think you've read enough 'stuff,'" he said, aching at her sadness.

Pressing her lips together, Rachel forced back her tears. Sam's presence brought both relief and ache. After what she read, she had absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was far too kind of a person, and that the others who talked about her behind her back were more than justified. And she also knew that any relationship involving intimacy with Sam was a sure-fire way to risk his life. She was a ticking time bomb, and she cared too much about him to let him continue to fool himself. "I don't belong here, Sam," Rachel whispered sadly, avoiding his eyes. "I'm … These texts … If I'm what you say I am—"

"Rachel," Sam interrupted, taking her hands, "listen to me: These books are one viewpoint. An outdated viewpoint."

"They're a century's worth of documentation," she argued, pulling away from his grip. "You can't tell me that's invalid just because I exist."

"It's not. But what I'm saying is, it doesn't apply to you."

Rachel shook her head. "It does. The sooner you accept that, the better."

Sam looked her over, watching how she set her jaw. "I won't accept it," he replied. "Because you're not what they wrote about."

"You're blind!" Rachel shouted, standing and pacing away from him and the desk. Sam rose to his feet as he watched. "I _am_ what they wrote about." She snagged a book from the stack, finding a passage. "Doctor Clyde Harrison said nephilims are, 'Peculiarly unstable at first, rather like an infant who cries, but with frivolously fatal complications. As it grows, so does its hunger for destruction. Fueled by chaos and selfish whims, the mid stage nephilim consumes souls in vast quantities until a fully developed, horrifyingly accurate and formidable marksman is shaped, mankind their helpless target. Lest you desire senseless, immoral death to the human population, extermination by any means necessary is undoubtedly the only acceptable response to the abominations' existence.'"

"That guy was from 1902," Sam argued.

"Well, he isn't wrong!"

"Rachel—"

"No, Sam," Rachel interrupted, slamming the book shut. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to how I'm 'different.' Not when I've killed people with a flick of my hand." She swallowed hard. "I'm not her anymore. I'm not the girl you knew. And apparently I haven't been for a long time. Maybe … Maybe we were once able to be something, but that's not the case now."

He felt coolness line his stomach, dread churning it. "What do you mean?"

"Pre-grace, maybe I was the woman you cared for. But not post grace."

"You're the same woman," Sam insisted. "The same exact one."

"You're lying."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because they told me!" Rachel spat. "I can't be that woman. Not after what they said."

Sam stiffened. "After what who said?"

Rachel searched his eyes. "As soon as I woke up, all of the other hunters avoided me. Especially Bobby. Even your mother a bit. I could tell she was trying not to seem like it, but I felt it. They asked me what happened back there. In Missouri. After I explained it, I saw the sideways looks and whispers. I'm not an idiot. I know harbored resentment when I see it. Hell, my life is practically founded on it. So ... I decided to ask about my past."

Sam's lips parted. Her inquiring about her past was a terrible move without him there to buffer it. "Rachel—"

"They said I _slaughtered_ people," Rachel quivered, eyeing him. " _Lots_ of people."

" _Demons_ ," Sam corrected, stepping closer. "Demons who were bent on killing Robbie."

"Still people," she said, pained. "And they said I almost killed Bobby." Sam didn't know about that. He went to speak but was cut off. "They all said the same thing, though—that without my grace, I'd be a better person now." Her eyes welled with tears. "Guess they heard about me getting that back too." She exhaled a shudder. "So, then I thought maybe I'd be able to find a way to change myself if I read enough." Hugging herself, Rachel grit her teeth, staring at the floor. "Except, there is no changing me. I'm a freak, just like August said. A dangerous freak. A monster."

Sam moved to her, taking hold of her biceps as he examined her eyes. "Look at me," he urged. He tipped her chin up when she refused. "Look at me," he whispered. The pain in her eyes made his heart break. "First of all, _nothing_ August has ever said about you is true. _Nothing._ " He stroked her chin as he held her face up. "You are an amazing woman, Rachel," he said, relishing the feel of her skin. "These books … they don't define you. Your past doesn't define you. You're _not_ a monster. You've never been one, nor will you ever be one. _Ever._ "

Rachel shrugged out of his grip. "You're wrong, Sam," she argued back, her voice soft and broken. "I'm sorry you …" She drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry you lost your fiancée. I truly am. I can't imagine how … how awful that must have been. For you and for Robbie. But I … I can't be with you. You _need_ to see how dangerous I am. You _need_ to understand I'm _not_ a human, like she was. I'm … I'm not safe. Not for you, or for anyone anymore."

Sam paused. She didn't think she was the fiancée he "lost." If she knew she was Robbie's mother, she would leave instantly to protect him. He had no doubt about that. At that moment, he had a choice, and not an easy one at that. He could either reveal the truth to her and imprison her until she hopefully regained her soul, or avoid the truth and find a way to keep her safe at the bunker, yet still free.

He bit back the tears, knowing keeping her at arm's length was what was best. Just until she was his again. "Then …" He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Then just stay." Swallowing back his sadness, he continued, coming to stand in front of her. He reached out and raked his fingers through her hair. She momentarily closed her eyes against his tender touch. "Stay so … so we can help you. We can train you to be a hunter. We have a place for you here."

Rachel felt gutted at his evident pain. She, too, wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, resuming her place as his "everything" as he called her. But it was far too dangerous. He had a son, a beautiful boy to care for. She couldn't be close to him. Rachel took hold of his arm, gently lowering his hand from her cheek with sadness. "I … I can't stay. These people … they're good people, and they have a right to doubt me."

"No, they don't," Sam corrected firmly, taking her hands into his. Her skin was cool silk, her body chilled from the dank archives she must have spent several hours in. "Please. Stay," he begged in a whisper. He stepped closer to her through her silence. "The demons will be looking for you, and you're safe here. I just want to keep you safe. Please."

Rachel clenched her molars together, biting back her tears. He was right — she was being hunted, and without a space like the bunker, she was asking to hurt others from fear of being caught. She searched his eyes, hating the way she wanted to seek comfort from his arms and lips. Softly, she nodded, seeing his immediate relief.

Sam let go of her hands, hesitant as he withdrew. "Good," he whispered, wanting to draw her close and taste her. He lowered his hands to his sides, feeling on the edge of a breakdown. "Come on," he managed with a small smile, "let's leave these books where they belong."

* * *

 **Three Weeks Later**

"And … details matter. I know homework sucks, but get it down. All of it."

Sam looked to the small group of hunters, eyes heavy as he tried to keep up morale and forward motion. He wasn't sleeping much, unable to fully rest. Once Sam learned that Rachel didn't realize she was Robbie's mother, he instructed the others to keep the secret. He also specifically told Jack and Robbie to keep their identities to themselves for the time being, scared it too might negatively affect Rachel's choice to stay.

The charades proved to be burdensome to his morale. Lying to Rachel felt horrible; he knew that he had been short with her and aloof because of the guilt. Scared to hurt him, Rachel distanced herself from him specifically, though he was sure that his coolness contributed to some of it. That didn't stop him from craving her, or from the ache that came without her by his side. She was there, but not—a haunting figment rather than a soothing reality. Even after three weeks straight of intensive training with Mary, he could tell she didn't trust herself any more than she did before. On top of it, her soul didn't reroute itself, leaving Sam to have nightmares about the angels who might've gotten their hands on it.

"The more we know, the better we are," he continued, his voice trailing off as he heard Dean's familiar gait behind them. He turned, a bit of embarrassment washing over him as his older brother watched intently, coffee cup in hand. "Uh …" He looked back at the hunters. "Everybody good? Any questions?" He nodded, barely giving them time to respond. "Okay, good. Let's get to work."

"You kids have fun out there," Dean smirked as the others left.

"Don't even say it," Sam mumbled, taking up his coffee and walking away toward the kitchen.

"What?" Dean feigned innocence. "No, it's good. It's got a real 'camp counselor' vibe to it. Just need to get you a whistle." As they walked, Sam's phone repeated an annoying beeping sound. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's nothing …" Sam sighed, pulling out his phone. "It's just hunter check-ins."

"Hunter check-ins?" Dean repeated. "That's adorable."

The two made their way into the kitchen, Sam sighing as he hovered in front of the coffee maker, refilling his cup. "You've gotten any rest lately?" Dean asked as he walked to the table, watching him. "Like, at all?" Sam didn't respond, sighing as he sat down across from him. "Look, I know things are crazy right now. I know Rachel—"

"Don't," Sam said, swallowing hard.

"Dude. You need to tell her the truth."

"I know. I _know_ I do, but I _can't_. If she knew she was Robbie's mother, she'd run faster than I'd ever be able to find her. There's no way she would feel he was safe with her around."

Dean held Sam's narrowed look. "I get it. I do. Things are … weird right now. Hell, I just went toe-to-toe with my own personal horror movie icon, but we all need our beauty sleep. And you need that woman. You think she's going to appreciate being lied to? Besides, maybe if she knew who Jack and Robbie really were-"

"No," Sam snapped, eyeing Dean.

"You're only pushing her away like this," Dean continued. "If you want her to stay, make her feel like she can trust you. Start by telling the truth."

"She'll know the truth when her soul manages to find its way back here."

"Sam—"

"Dean," Sam said, impatience in his voice, "I've got sixteen hunters on cases right now. That's not counting Jack and Cas in Sarasota, or Mom and Bobby working that rugaru in Texas. And that's on top of worrying where Rachel's soul is. It sucks having her on the outside, but I've got a full load right now."

"Okay," Dean said, sitting. "You know that these people survived a war, right?"

"Yeah, but a war isn't hunting," Sam insisted. "These people need lore and weapons and tips and backup …" He met his brother's eyes. Dean was clearly not convinced. "Look, don't worry about me, alright? I'm … I'm good."

Sam's phone chirping distracted him, his stomach dropping when he flipped to the app to investigate Maggie's missing check-in. "What is it?" he heard Dean ask.

"Uh, one of the hunters missed check-in," Sam murmured.

"Who?"

"... Maggie," Sam answered, distressed as he looked at Dean. He looked back down at his phone, trying to remain positive, though he knew things were far from it.


	119. Chapter 118

**_S14 E5 "Nightmare Logic" Weave  
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)  
_**

 ** _I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I might have named some unnamed people from the episodes, because it's easier that way. ;)_**

* * *

In the library, Sam focused on the laptop screen, barely hearing Rachel approach from the maps room. She set down her car keys and the large brown bag full of supplies she had just bought on the far end of the desk, her eyes glued on Sam. Despite their distant tension and painful lack of communication, she couldn't help but want to know what had him so worried. "Sam? What's wrong?" she asked quietly as she approached.

Sam looked over at her, wetting his lips as he examined her. Her thick dark hair was swept back in a textured ponytail. The v-neck blush hued long sleeved shirt she wore hugged over her chest, revealing a bit of tantalizing cleavage. The top contrasted in hue with her tight, dark jeans that melted over her hips and thighs. The ensemble ended in a familiar pair of weathered hiking boots. The entire package made his throat dry out.

Seeing her in different outfits before had never failed to interest him, but there was something about the selections she had made as the "new" Rachel during her shopping trip to replace her wardrobe that made him more than intrigued. The tops had more daring cuts, the bottoms a slimmer fit that hugged her curves to perfection, and though he didn't see them, he couldn't help but imagine what her new undergarments looked like. Previously, Rachel had adopted oversized items as a wardrobe staple, which he assumed that was from her lack of confidence. However, she now seemed more than comfortable displaying her curves, and it didn't fail to catch his eye. Or Ketch's.

Sam loathed the idea of Ketch being near Rachel, seeing how he took prolonged glances at her. It made him crazed; he was more than tempted to rearrange his face on more than one occasion. But the airports were still suffering from the Snownado, delaying Ketch's return to London until the end of the week. Despite being swamped, Sam considered volunteering to drive Ketch several hours to the next closest airport, but he knew he'd likely kill him along the way for how he saw his eyes roam over Rachel whenever she was around. He could last three more days. Possibly.

"Sam?" Rachel asked, pulling Sam from his daze.

"It's Maggie," he explained, seeing her surprise. "She didn't check in."

"She's in Oklahoma still?"

"Yeah. I'm connecting to her body cam feed," he explained softly.

Rachel looked over her shoulder, hearing Dean's heavy booted gait approaching behind her. He paced near her as he pressed his phone to his ear. "Come on, kid, answer the phone." When he got the voicemail, he sighed and hung up, glancing at what Sam was working on. "You got them wearing body cams now?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, they're new. I figured watching each other hunt is the best way to learn. Okay, so … they upload directly to the server."

Maggie's feminine voice seemed to chill them even through the screen. " _In delightful Claremore, Oklahoma."_

"And if something goes wrong," Dean added, "you got a place to start."

Sam grit his teeth in dread. "Yeah, that too."

" _Here we go."_

The three were silent as they peered at the screen. Rachel didn't realize she was gnawing on her lip as hard as she was until she felt a bit of pain. She jumped slightly when Maggie screamed, quickly regaining herself as Sam flurried over the keyboard to rewind the footage.

"Something jumped her," Dean concluded.

"The ghoul?" Sam asked. "Dean, if she's hurt or dead—"

"We don't know that, okay?" Dean interrupted. "We don't know anything yet."

Sam scoffed. "You just watched the same thing I did."

Dean eyed his brother, seeing the impossibly heavy burden on his shoulders. He knew how badly the situation with Rachel was affecting him. He didn't like Sam's choice to keep secrets from Rachel, knowing it was what drove them apart before. Maggie being vulnerable was something he knew Sam was not going to handle well. If she wasn't alive, it would only keep him from being able to fully rest. The guilt would crush him, and his worries about Rachel would multiply. Dean took a breath. "I saw a ghoul, okay? And, yeah, they're nasty little sons of bitches, but they're also scavengers. They don't usually feed on the living."

"Yeah, so why attack her?" Sam countered.

"I don't know." Dean glanced to Rachel, seeing the concern in her eyes. "But I bet if we go there and find out, we got a shot at bringing her home."

As Dean left to pack a bag, Rachel moved a step closer, watching Sam shut down the laptop. "Are ghouls … hard to kill?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Sam replied with a small smile. His assurance didn't seem to be at all convincing, Rachel's concerned expression remaining unchanged. Sam stood as she traced her fingertips over the chair next to her.

"She's just a kid," Rachel murmured, focusing on the desk.

"We'll find her," Sam said softly. He moved in closer to her, aching at her fear.

Rachel nodded, looking up and giving him a forced smile back. "I know you will." Her heart clenched at the palpable tension that lingered between them. "Just be careful," she added.

"I will be," he replied. He swallowed. "Would you, uh, mind looking after Robbie?" he asked, trying to test the waters.

Rachel's lips parted. He was trusting her with the most important job one could have while he was gone. And she didn't even trust herself to hold more than a five minute conversation with the boy out of fear of somehow hurting him. "I … I don't think that's a good idea." Sam nodded quickly, and she felt horrible. She let him down. Again. She was even more of a failure. "I-I just … I'm just afraid I … might …"

Sam stepped closer, nothing but sincerity in his expression, though he was more than pained at her apparent lack of self value. "It's okay. Really. I'm sure Julie won't mind."

Rachel felt tears come, hating to disappoint him. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Rachel, it's okay," Sam assured gently, silencing her. "I understand."

He held her gaze longer than Rachel knew what to do with. He had trimmed his beard, something she was still adjusting to. Despite having known him—or remembered knowing him—for longer without one, her first sight of him when she woke was of him with one. The loss of the beard seemed to make Dean happy, but for her, it was different. With the cleaner cut came a man she didn't really speak to, save for a few cordial words here and there. He became a man who was distant and stiff—certainly nothing like the one who had wrapped her in his arms and kissed her like she had never been kissed before.

His eyes, though, gave him away. They would roam over her every time they shared a room, hyper focused on her until she caught him looking. Rachel wanted so badly to give in and take the risk, to break the thick ice wall that grew between them, but she couldn't. Especially when she saw Robbie. He was such a sweet boy, and he needed his father. She couldn't risk doing anything that might harm him, or anyone else.

She avoided most everyone, in fact. Her biggest group social moments of the day were usually during supper, and training with Mary, who was the only hunter consistently at the bunker willing to help her with her combat skills, besides Sam and Dean when she wasn't around. Other than that, she stayed to herself, either in the range, the gym, or in her room. Her distance kept people safe, in her mind.

And his distance kept her safe in Sam's. He gave her the space she felt she needed to keep people safe. And it felt like utter torture and hell for him. Still, if she left out of fear, trying to track her would be far too hard, and being alone would be far too dangerous for her with all of the enemies bent on using or hurting her.

Still, he had never meant for them to grow apart as they did over the weeks that followed their return to the bunker. Somehow, between all of the demands as the bunker leader, and his fears of Rachel running away, Sam had unwittingly helped to construct a deep divide between them. Their passionate kiss and fiery intimacy was but a distant memory, one he repeatedly replayed with the other memories of his time with her.

"We can work on those blocks when I get back," Sam said after a pause. He cleared his throat. "If you want to," he added softly.

Rachel nodded, feeling awkward. "Yeah. That … that works. In the meantime, I'll, uh … clean some weapons. Again. If you, uh, need lure, I'll be … here."

Sam's lips parted; he readied to apologize for the isolation he made her undergo, but couldn't. His cowardice won out, his voice escaping him. "I'll see you when we get back," he said, giving her a smile that felt more than out of place.

She returned it, backing away with a nod. Silently, she left the room. Slamming the laptop closed, Sam sighed, feeling his entire body tense. She would be alone with Ketch. _He wouldn't dare … would he?_ Sam swiped a hand over his face, hating the thoughts that floated in his head. If he did, and she moved toward him because of it, it was no one else's fault but his own. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't bear the distance, or the way she looked from it. More than anything, he wanted her in his arms, in his life. He would tell her the truth when he got back, and figure out a way to make her stay. He had to.

* * *

"Polishing weapons again?"

Rachel looked up from her rag at the library desk hours after Sam and Dean left, gun in hand as she saw Ketch enter. She felt her stomach clench. There was something about him that made her very confused. She couldn't discern the exact feelings, but there was a definite undercurrent of tension whenever he was around. He had been friendly, though. He was one of the only people to talk to her regularly besides Sam, Dean, Castiel, Mary, Jack, and Robbie. "Just trying to be helpful," she replied, resting the cleaned portion of the gun onto the desk.

"You'd be far more helpful in the field," Ketch countered, stepping closer.

"No I wouldn't," Rachel quickly replied, her eyes darting back to her work. She resumed polishing, tightening her fingers on the rag in her hand.

"You're still afraid." Ketch watched her for a long moment, patient through her silence. "From what Mary says, you've nothing to be afraid of, and haven't had to be since the beginning."

Rachel's jaw flexed. "I've got plenty. Besides, I'm here for lure. Since most everyone else is gone."

Ketch pulled out a chair and sat down next to her, observing as she put the gun back together she had painstakingly cleaned for the second time that week. "Perhaps, then, you need a bit of a break," he suggested softly, seeing how her hands slowed a bit as she listened. "You're not a machine, you know. When was the last time you got out of the bunker for something other than supplies?"

"I'm fine," Rachel insisted, clicking the gun parts back into place harder than necessary.

She froze when Ketch's hand rested on hers, her focus still on the gun. "It's been three weeks," he continued softly. "You've barely said a word to anyone. It's not fair to you."

"It's my choice," she reminded him, though her voice was too soft to seem convincing.

"And maybe it's time to make another."

Rachel suppressed a shiver from Ketch's warm touch, too scared to look at him. She wet her lips, feeling weakened by his words. Her resolve to stay away from everyone was crumbling, her need for connection gaining power. Ketch was more than right-it was three weeks, and she had left the bunker two times, and only for supplies. And the only reason she did was because nearly everyone else was out on cases. "Why does it matter to you?" she asked, eyeing him, trying to resist the temptation.

"Because I'd hate to see such an incredible woman fade into nothingness," Ketch replied, remembering the first time he told her the same words. Before, she fought him, even though he could tell she contemplated his words. This time, though, it was different. She didn't resist his advice—or his advances. "A drink," he offered. "Nothing complicated or rash. A sensible person like yourself knows the benefit of a bit of recreation every now and then. What do you say?"

Searching his dark eyes, Rachel caved. She nodded. "A drink," she repeated back, as if still trying to convince herself. She needed to feel human. She _was_ human, after all. And Ketch seemed to be the only person to remind her of that. A lingering nervousness remained despite the soft stroke of his thumb over the back of her hand. His touch was far different than Sam's, but a welcomed shower of interaction to her self-imposed drought. "One drink. Then back here."

A smile curled the side of Ketch's mouth. "Of course."

* * *

When Sam and Dean followed the lead on Maggie, they discovered that Mary and Bobby were one step ahead and already at the residence. Sam didn't miss Bobby's look of annoyance at their arrival, or the contempt he held as they left the house after their interview. The four stood around the Impala's trunk, trying to regroup.

"Well, it ain't a ghoul," Bobby concluded outside of the house. I checked the old guy out pretty good back there - no bites."

"Maybe we're looking at a shifter," Mary suggested.

"I don't know," Dean countered. "Shifters don't usually hang out in graveyards."

Sam drew in a breath. "Maybe he was possessed, you know, or maybe a demon took his body for a joyride?"

Bobby eyed him. "Yeah, and then what? He tucks him back in like he's returning a library book?" Sam tensed his jaw, the pressures of Bobby's clear distrust of Rachel and his leadership by keeping her close irking him and making him deflated. "Anyways," Bobby continued, "I spritzed him with holy water when the nurse's head was turned." He narrowed his focus on Sam. "This case obviously ain't a milk run."

Dean stiffened at the clear dig. "Something on your mind, Bobby?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, looking to Dean. "Your brother. He let Maggie come here when she had no idea what she was walking into. She wasn't ready."

"Oh, c'mon," Dean scoffed, "when is anybody ever ready?"

"You are or you ain't." Bobby returned his focus to Sam. "A real leader would've seen that a mile a way. Just like he'd know the danger of leaving a freshly made nephilim who murdered a man alone at the bunker."

"Hey," Dean barked before Sam could even say anything. "Watch it. Rach is family."

"Look," Mary said with a glare at Bobby, "we all want the same thing. We have a job to do, so let's do it. Sam, you're with me. Bobby, you're with Dean."

The foursome split. Sam couldn't help but let the weight of Bobby's contempt sink him lower than he already felt.

Mary saw his burden, aching for him. "Look, don't listen to Bobby," she insisted as they walked through the woods together.

Sam wet his lips, glancing around himself. "Um, maybe he's right, you know? I encouraged her." He thought of how pained Rachel looked before he left. "Maybe he's right about me," he said, hating parts of what he had become. Hating how Maggie was in trouble because of him. Hating how Rachel wasn't much more than a stranger now instead of his fiancée because of his unwillingness to let go and let her in the field. "About everything."

Mary stopped, turning to face Sam. For all his height and build, he looked more than weak and defeated. "Sam. Watching you these last few weeks, you know what I've been saying to myself? 'This is what he was born to do.'" Sam glanced away a bit, trying to let the words sink in. "If Bobby can't see that, then it's not the only thing he's been missing lately."

They resumed walking; Sam wet his throat. "I wasn't gonna mention it," he said. "None of my business, but it did seem like you'd gotten pretty close lately."

Mary sighed. "Yeah, and I thought so, too. Maybe, but since we've been back, things have changed."

"Changed how?"

"We're hunting all the time. He won't take a break, not even for a second. There's something on his mind, and ... he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Have you asked?"

"Bobby's not open like your dad."

Sam stopped, a confused look on his face. "Wait. Like my dad?"

Mary smirked. "Okay. At least he's not like your dad was when _I_ knew him."

"Right," Sam smirked back, continuing forward.

"Bobby's got walls," Mary continued. "Big ones. I just don't know if I can do that if I even ever put myself out there again." Seeing Sam's display of awkwardness, she chuckled. "I shouldn't be talking to you about this."

A silence fell between them. "I'm going to tell Rachel," Sam said softly, gaining Mary's attention. "About Robbie. When we get back."

Mary nodded. "I think that's smart."

"I expect her to freak out," Sam sighed.

"She may." Mary looked over to her son. "She's strong, Sam. Physically. Mentally. Her natural instincts are still there from before, maybe even sharper. She could be in the field."

"She doesn't trust herself," Sam replied. "Not after Missouri."

Mary remembered the way she found Sam when they went to rescue Rachel from August. It was more gruesome than she ever thought he was capable of. "You never told me what happened in the house with August," she said quietly.

Sam drew in a breath through flared nostrils. "I …" He released it softly. "I lost it. When I heard what he did to her …" His throat dried out as he reheard Rachel's recounted story, and the details she became aware of after taking grace. "He was a monster," Sam concluded. "And he got what he deserved."

It wasn't what Mary had hoped to hear, but it was something nonetheless. "Her life has been nothing but pain, hasn't it?"

Tears threatened his eyes. "I'd do anything to give her some peace."

"Telling her the truth won't do that."

"No, it won't." Sam wet his lips. "But me telling her the full truth and being there for her through her fear will." He looked at his mother. "She'll probably never get her soul back. I can't hold on to the hope she will come back to me as she was before."

"Do you think Michael has her soul?" Mary asked, nauseous at the thought.

Sam swallowed back the bile the truth caused. "I have no doubt that he does."

* * *

There was something oddly familiar about Morley's Bar to Rachel; she had to assume it was from her past time before her memories were lost with her original soul. In truth, when it came to the discussion of her soul being restored, she wasn't any longer sure it mattered. People seemed to have their opinions about her before anyway, after she consumed grace the first time. Castiel said removing her grace now would kill her, so that wasn't an option. And she wasn't allowing herself to be close to Sam. What else could be different if she had her original soul?

Still, she worried what the implications were of it not ever coming back to her since the cabin. And she knew Sam was too. She also couldn't help but feel tense as she and Ketch made their way to the bar, knowing the demons who had been gathering near to the bunker suddenly fell off the radar for weeks. What were they planning? Were they waiting for her to leave the bunker, like she was now? She knew with her grace she'd recognize their horrid faces, but it didn't stop Rachel from halting, digging her feet into the ground. "I can't," she said softly, gaining Ketch's attention.

Ketch looked back at her, his brow creasing as he saw her stress. "What's wrong?"

Rachel looked at him, taking a step backward. "I need to go back to the bunker."

Moving to her, Ketch took her hand. It was clammy, shaking. "Nothing will happen," he assured her.

"If I lose control, there are so many people here and-"

"Breathe, darling," Ketch urged, offering her a small smile. "I promise you, it'll all be alright. Just breathe." He saw her take in a deep breath and felt her relax a little as she released it. "There you go. Come on. Let's get you a drink."

Rachel let Ketch lead her to the bar, taking a seat on one of the few empty stools left. She glanced around herself as Ketch sat next to her, gulping. There were so many people. Just like Missouri, when she killed a man.

"A Bramble for the lady," Ketch told the bartender, "and a Scotch on the rocks for me, please."

"I-I can't drink right now," Rachel said quickly, halting the bartender. Her stomach churned with nausea, her mind still on overdrive. Something in her head told her not to indulge, that she shouldn't. "Can I just have a club soda with cranberry?"

The bartender nodded, leaving Rachel and Ketch to make the drinks. "Sorry," Rachel murmured, looking over at Ketch. "I just-"

"There's no need for an apology," he assured. "The point of this evening was to get you out of the bunker, and here we are."

"... Yeah."

When they got their drinks, Rachel quickly snatched it and took a hardy pull from the slim straw in it. "Good thing that's non-alcoholic," Ketch teased. "Otherwise, you might need me to carry you out."

Rachel chose not to reply, instead tracing the dots of condensation that collected on her glass, letting the moisture roll down her finger. She shut her eyes with a sigh, the jukebox music flowing over her. An artist she didn't know crooned a melancholy tune about losing their lover. Even though she knew nine out of ten songs written were likely about the same topic, she could help but feel the sentiments were timed for her to hear.

But she couldn't remember Sam in that capacity. The closest she got was their whirlwind kiss in the cabin three weeks prior. After that, they moved apart—partly her choice, and seemingly partly his. She had wondered if she was being too cautious about keeping distance with Sam, but when he started to keep his own, she took it as a sign. Rachel opened her eyes and looked down at the ice bobbing in her drink. He was right to stay away from her. It didn't matter how badly she wanted to be with him. His son had to come first. _And I guess now he realizes that._

"Deep in thought," Ketch mused, sipping his Scotch.

"Just … trying to relax." Rachel shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm shit company." She shifted her focus to Ketch with an apologetic look. "Thank you for trying, though."

"Well," Ketch said, taking another sip of Scotch, "if I can't interest you in some spirits, then maybe I can in a friendly game of darts?"

Rachel's mouth quirked into a small smile. "You play?"

"Any good Englishman spends more than enough time at pubs in uni. Learning darts is nearly mandatory."

Her smile widened. "Okay," she replied, looking him over. He wore a black turtleneck over a pair of black pants. She rarely saw him in anything but a button-up and suit slacks. "You're on."

Ketch downed the rest of his drink and slid off his stool, holding out his hand. Rachel took it, stepping down off the small platform and into the thickening crowd. He let go after ushering her to lead the way, watching her hips sway from behind in appreciation.

Once at the dart board, he handed the three darts to Rachel. "Five hundred one, yes?"

"Sounds good."

"Ladies first," Ketch said, gesturing to the throw line.

Rachel stepped up to it, taking up a dart and rolling it between her fingers. She aimed, then threw it, sticking it in the treble 20 ring. With her second and third dart, she totaled 142. "Impressive," Ketch said, going to the board and taking the darts down. "You're not giving me an inch, are you?"

"Nope," Rachel smirked, sipping her club soda as she watched Ketch assume his position.

By the time the third turn came, Ketch ended up with 76 points left points left, Rachel with exactly 50. "We can bypass the bullseye rule," Ketch suggested, having yet to see Rachel land one.

"Hell no," she replied, narrowing her eyes. She stepped to the line, taking a deep breath in. As she went to throw the dart, she froze, her lips parting as vivid imagery washed over her. She would call it a memory, but she wasn't even sure she remembered it. The room seemed to shift, morphing into something she knew and didn't. It was the most bizarre feeling she ever had.

 _Her face was on fire. From what, she didn't know. She swallowed, her heart racing. Sam stood next to her, a cocky smile playing on his mouth. Next to him stood two half finished Heinekens, and two twenty-dollar bills on a ledge. It was a different bar, a different atmosphere. Yet, somehow familiar all the same._

 _Sam handed her three darts. "Ladies first." He grinned. She could feel his eyes skimming over her from behind as she moved into position. She focused, channeling her practiced skill._

 _Every hunter had to have a hustle angle, and hers was darts. She spent many hours perfecting her game, using her youthful looks to lure unsuspecting men into placing large bets. Only once or twice did any of them get mad. Most were usually just far too forward, trying to cop a feel of any curve they could to make up for their loss of cash. She had definitely broken some wandering fingers to show how capable she was of taking care of herself._

 _She threw one hundred and fifty five points in the first round. "Nicely done," Sam said, removing her darts._

 _"Thank you," she smirked, unable to help but look at his backside as he stepped to the line. Her eyes rounded when he threw two hundred and twenty points in the first round. "Damn," she muttered._

 _"You might want to start thinking of how you'll hide from Dean."_

 _She grabbed the darts. "You're awfully cocky."_

 _Sam shrugged. "I'm just thinking about my inevitable prize."_

 _She focused, throwing two hundred and forty points in the second round. "So am I," she replied, catching Sam's arched brow._

 _He threw two hundred points after her. "Sixty one points from victory. Hope you can get that one-oh-six."_

 _She took a long drink, plucking the darts from the board. She sunk the first one in fifty-five, the second in fifty. Then, she grinned at Sam. "Can't wait to see Cas' face." With a sure throw, she landed the single point mark dead center._

 _Sam applauded her, then took a long drink. His first dart landed a twenty, his second just making it into forty. He paused, looking back at her. "We didn't say what we'd do in the event of a tie."_

 _She pursed her lips. "Sudden death?"_

 _Sam shook his head. "I vote we combine our prizes."_

 _"How?"_

 _"You'll see."_

 _Sam turned back, landing the single point mark with his last dart. Her eyes widened as she watched Sam finish his beer. "Nicely done, Winchester."_

 _"You too, Lentz." He moved in toward her, a devilish grin playing on his lips. "I'm ready for my prize."_

 _"Which is what, exactly?" she asked, her breath a little shaky as his hand slid up her waist._

 _Sam grabbed their cash, taking her outside with him with urgency. They rounded the corner, coming to a poorly lit alley. He stopped, turning her to face himself. Pressing her to the bricks, he devoured her mouth, swallowing her moan as he pinned her with his body, his lips hungrily tasting hers._

 _He was ravenous, nearly feral as he pressed into her, her little pants and gasps seeming to make him insane. Sam's mouth moved to the space just below her earlobe, suckling her jaw as he thrust against her. "You," he whispered between kisses. "You're my prize. You always have been. And always will be."_

"Rachel? Are you alright?"

Rachel blinked hard. The bar scenery shifted, the alleyway bricks and chain link fence behind Sam disappearing, along with Sam and his electric touch. She wet her lips, trying to focus as the memory faded with a bit of haze, revealing a concerned Ketch standing in front of her. "Can you hear me?" he asked, worry wrinkling his brow.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a long moment. "I think I just remembered something," she whispered after a long pause. Was it a daydream, or a real memory? Only Sam would know.

"What did you remember?" Ketch asked, stepping closer. He took the darts from her, keeping his focus on her as he set them aside.

"Sam," she replied, still feeling jumbled in her head. An ache grew in her temples, rising with steadiness amidst the confusion the memory left.

Ketch lifted his chin a bit; it wasn't what he had hoped. "What about him?"

Rachel shook her head, trying to remember the pieces that came before for context. "I don't … I think we should go," she said softly. Something felt wrong. Off. Weird.

Not waiting for him, Rachel turned and headed for the entrance, more than confused. The memory was so vivid, so clear—like it happened right then in real time. She felt him. Tasted him. It _was_ him … almost. As she opened the front door and exited the bar, she rubbed at her temples. The pain built in her head, not seeming to relent even with fresh air. Was it a side effect of the memory?

Before she could think any more about it, she was snatched by a thick pair of arms and dragged away.


End file.
